


Negotiator

by esama



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Drama, F/M, Family, Some politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan dies, wakes up and decides to live a whole different life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Darlene

Obi-Wan paused, blinking at the bandages in his hand. A cloth gauze the likes of which he hadn't seen in a long while, was held stretched between his hand and his ankle. Clean and thin, it's fibre structure uniform and very nearly transparent. Nothing like the over used straps of random cloth he'd been using for… years now. And what more, he'd wrapped it around a patch of bacta that was pressed against the outside of his ankle.

It had been… well over a decade since he'd been able to afford bacta.

Confused, he unwound the bandage around his ankle and examined the injury he'd been treating. It was all very strange. It was nothing more than a small burn he'd used the near priceless bacta on, but that wasn't the worst of it. It was the skin of his ankle – of his leg, of his foot. Pale and smooth, very nearly hairless. The veins didn't stand out the way he remembered. His scars… were all gone. And the foot itself, his ankle, his whole leg – they were so very… small.

And then it landed on him – like a heavy rain that he was only now aware of, washing over him and through him, filling his every recess with what he'd very nearly forgotten. The feel of the Force – the Force of _others_.

Alarmed he looked up, and stared in dumbfounded befuddlement at the room around him – cramped, clean quarters the likes of which he had not seen in so very long. The architecture was immediately recognisable though, and as familiar as breathing – the smooth, white walls, the design of the window sill, the bed, the table, the chair. All of it held that distinctive signature of _home_. Not his home on Tatooine, though, no, the home he'd lost, the home that had been burned, raped, and crushed to ruin.

He sat frozen on the floor of what _couldn't_ be a chamber in the JediTemple on Coruscant, with the Force signatures of… dozens, hundreds of Jedi all around him.

"A dream," he murmured, his gaze going from the undone bed to the desk, eying the datapads stacked there. In front of him lay an open medpac, the sort that cost more on Tatooine than an average family's monthly food intake. "No… a death vision."

He'd died, after all.

There was a beep before he could try and sort his feelings or thoughts further – the door. Before Obi-Wan could even marvel at the sound – it was so familiar, for all that he'd not heard it in so long – the warning signal was followed by the door opening. A Rutian Twi'lek stood there in Jedi garb, her face faintly familiar and name all but forgotten.

She looked… disappointed.

"Well," she said, looking at him, at the medpac, and then holding out a datapad towards him. "With your burns still so fresh, this should not come as a surprise."

Obi-Wan blinked, trying to place a name to her face even as he reached and took the datapad – trying not to get distracted by how odd the move was, how strange his hand, his shoulders, his whole body felt. He twisted in a way he had not been able to in a long while, reached further, and yet could not quite make the distance before she reached in return. The datapad felt heavier in his hand than it reasonably should've.

On it there was a set of orders, and a flight plan, informing him that _Jedi Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are hereby assigned to the Agricultural branch of the Jedi Service Corps, effective immediately. Your first posting will be on the service station at Bandomeer…_ before detailing the people he'd be reporting to, and some of the studies and duties that would follow.

He stared at the orders in bewilderment for long enough for the Twi'lek to soften her disappointment and smile at him. "There now, it's not so bad," she said. "Not everyone is meant to be a Jedi Knight, you know, and there is no dishonour in feeding people. With your abilities, you can do great things in the AgriCorps."

"The… AgriCorps," Obi-Wan repeated dully. He thought of the reports he'd glanced at over the course of the Clone Wars, mentions of ransacked service stations, burned fields and laboratories and clinics – Service Corps members vanishing left and right. And then… the order, that had slain those that were left.

He remembered that one stop by a service station on an agricultural planet, where AgriCorps had been present for decades. It had been a simple supply run – the usual supply route had been compromised and they'd been cut off from their supply stations, so they'd had to figure out another resource for necessary goods, rations and whatnot. It had seemed like the whole planet had been burned, with the bodies of young and old Jedi strewn all across the station, fallen among the broken droids that had killed them.

"It's a nice, peaceful life," the Twi'lek Jedi said gently. "And judging by your recent actions, you could use a bit of peace and quiet to calm down."

"Calm down?" Obi-Wan asked, blinking, trying to shake the smell of burning grain from his memory.

"You didn't think that your fight with Bruck wouldn't be noticed?" She asked flatly, giving him a look and folding her arms. "Bruck barely made it to the healers before passing out. You've always had trouble controlling your anger, Obi-Wan, but this is the worst you've done. If you can't control your emotions yet, so far into your training…"

She left it open and Obi-Wan just stared at her. After a moment, she shook her head and turned to leave. "Start packing your things, and say goodbye to your friends, Obi-Wan. The _Monument_ leaves tomorrow. You do not want to miss it."

And with that, she'd left Obi-Wan alone in the room that couldn't be real, with a body too small and too limber to be his, with orders to go to a world that burned long ago, to a service branch that had been butchered – in an Order of Jedi that was no more.

Obi-Wan's hands shook as he clutched onto the datapad, looking down at the orders that he'd gotten more than forty five years ago. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in, and centred himself. The minor burns and their stinging faded, the confusion of his body faded, the Force signatures of long-dead Jedi faded, and he was calm.

Then he took the experience he'd just had and began to break it apart into understandable chunks, analysing everything he'd just taken into his memory. The room and its furniture and architecture, the unmade bed and the table, the medpac and the gauze that now lay across his feet forgotten. Then the Twi'lek – he remembered her, almost could recall her name. She'd been… the Docent of his dormitory in the Temple, and one of his instructors before he'd became a Padawan. He thought her name begun with a V.

Bruck he remembered better. Bruck Chun, a fellow Initiate, they'd been the same age, in most of the same lessons, very nearly matched in skill. Obi-Wan remembered him more from his nightmares, than from those actual times he'd interacted with the boys – from the guilt that had gnawed at him, and taken so long to heal. Bruck had been twelve years old and so strong, and so easily seduced to the Dark Side. What a waste.

He'd sent Bruck to the healers? Yes, he had, hadn't he? Just before Qui-Gon, before Bandomeer, before… before everything. He couldn't quite remember why he and Bruck had fought, just that it had been bitter and angry and the result had been the Masters giving up on him, and sending him to Bandomeer. It had had something… to do with Qui-Gon's presence in the Temple.

But that was all in the past. Forty five years and more in the past, in a whole different era, a whole different universe. That and Qui-Gon, and the Jedi Order itself – lost in the sands of time, vanished and crumbled to ruin long before him. And Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan was dead.

Was he reliving his life in his memories now – was this what he had to do, before he could become one with the Force?

He considered it long and hard, looking at it from every angle, turning it over and over. It would make sense, to join the Force one would have to come to terms with one's life, and his troubles with his own life and his dissatisfactions and regrets had begun here, at the ending of his years as an Initiate and at the start of his years as a Padawan. And yet…

And yet.

Obi-Wan went over the room carefully and methodically, using the order to pack as an excuse to examine his surroundings. It was all familiar and yet not. The feel of the bed, the way the datapad sat in his hands, the chair when he sat on it – it all echoed with situational familiarity, his body content with the feel of it all even though his mind couldn't meet the familiarity in kind. The things he'd been studying on the datapads – lightsaber forms and katas, some random subjects he'd probably thought would help him be selected as a Padawan.

He'd been old for an Initiate. That he remembered without any reminders – he'd very nearly been thirteen. Was thirteen here, now, in whatever this was, a dream or hallucination or vision. He could remember the bitter fear of it, of being so old and not yet chosen. The unfathomable uncertainty of his future, the desperate hope and then the crushing disappointment when he failed. Qui-Gon had been his only hope for Knighthood and before that small spark of hope, there had been very little hope to cling to.

His last year or so as an Initiate was painted with that desperate hope and fear. Trying to strive for something he couldn't quite achieve, and the bitter disappointment whenever a Jedi Master looked over his progress, and then turned away. Many had – Qui-Gon was far from the first one. He'd just been the last one.

It was so strange to see that fearful hope and dreaded disappointment here, now, in the studies on the datapads and awkwardly scribbled notes on flimsies that seemed to fill his desk. There was a sense of desperation on all of it. _If I learn this, if I learn that, if I master this, then maybe, maybe, maybe…_

It had taken Obi-Wan years to figure out why so many Masters had refused to even consider him. He'd taught himself too much in his strive to be better – he'd taught himself too many bad habits. When a Jedi Master went out looking for a potential Padawan, they didn't look for already established skills – they looked for potential that could be shaped to their liking. A Padawan already set in his ways was simply too much trouble.

He should know – he'd definitely learned how much trouble it was with Anakin.

He packed, examining each physical memory and considering their impact then and now on him, how they had shaped him.  He'd learned humility in Qui-Gon's tutelage, but he'd been a head strong, passionate youth in his Initiate years, and it showed in his possessions. Desperate to be, and to learn, and to grow, so much so that he rarely if ever stopped to really _think_. So many impulsive decisions, so many times he'd led his feelings not just guide him, but string him along by the nose.

Still, the memories were fond – and sad. If he could return to those times, to that age of innocence… as foolish as had young Initiate Kenobi been, his life had been immeasurably better than that of Old Ben had been.

He was packing away his clothing, methodically folding the tough, well made Initiate tunics, when a soft knock sounded in the room. Another memory, he supposed, about to make an appearance for his perusal.

 It was one he should've, and yet hadn't, anticipated.

"Bant," he murmured at the sight of the Mon Calamari outside the door. She stood there hesitantly in the already darkened corridor of the Initiate dormitory, her force signature sweet and glowing in the darkness. All of ten years old, and already he could see the great Master she'd one day become.

"You weren't going to leave without saying good bye, were you?" she asked, and without word Obi-Wan stepped aside to let her in. The soft smell of the ocean that wafted around her made his eyes sting with tears he'd never truly shed for her and he looked away.

He hadn't been there when she'd died – he didn't even know where she'd been, when it had happened. He'd felt it, though. She'd always been a spark of life, so strong and secure and always there, somewhere in the back of his mind, and then… then she'd simply been gone. Another great Jedi Master – another General – cut down by the troops she'd commanded and trusted.

"They say you've been signed to the AgriCorps?" she said hesitantly and then looked him over, taking in the burns and bruises. "You're all beaten up. Have you even _tried_ to treat these?"

"They're nothing," Obi-Wan said, shaking his head, and she glared at him.

"They're not nothing. Let me have a look at them," she said and grabbed the medpac he'd set aside. Opening it, she grabbed a jar of salve and then turned to him. "I hear you're assigned to some place called Bandomeer."

"Hm," he answered, watching, trying not to tear up as she dabbed the salve onto the minor little burns. He'd honestly forgotten they were even there – they were such minor, insignificant little things. "You're wasting salve," he said, the long years on Tatooine screaming at him for the waste of it. "They'll heal on their own."

She just snorted at him. "Stop being so proud," she said dabbed another bead of salve onto another burn, hard enough to make Obi-Wan wince. "See?"

Obi-Wan just sighed, staring at her. The last time he'd seen her had been in a holomeeting. She had been giving a report of her squadron's recent battles to the Jedi High Council – a rushed, half bitten off litany of losses and victories. She'd looked hollowed out then. Still strong and vigorous, but like some key part of her had been taken from her, like something of her had been lost.

She'd looked like he'd felt, towards the end.

"Well?" she asked, putting the salve away and looking at him. There was water in her eyes, more than there should be. Unshed tears.

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan hugged her, and pressed a soft, dry kiss on her forehead. "Thank you," he said, thinking of all the times he'd gone to her, all the troubles he'd laid at her feet, all the times she'd helped him. She'd helped him through Qui-Gon and his loss, through Anakin and all the frustration and heart break, and during the war… Had he ever thanked her enough?

Bant took a shivery breath and then stepped back. "You'll be okay, right?" she asked.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan admitted honestly. He still wasn't sure what was going on. What this was. What he was supposed to do here, in this odd in-between place of memory and regret. "I'll try to be."

"Do or do not," Bant said.

"There is no try," Obi-Wan agreed and sighed. He nodded. "I'll be fine."

She looked at him for a moment and then nodded. She hugged him again, tighter. It made the bruises sting and the reality of it was strange, too real, too strong. It threw him off balance for a moment and he could think that maybe, maybe this was real, maybe he was here, maybe…

He hugged back and swallowed, and for a moment he was taken by a strange vertigo of indecision and mad hope. If, if this would be real, if this really was the past and this was really Bant as she'd been, a ten year old Initiate, then… then he could've done things differently.

He could've done so many things differently.

It was so many years before everything had gone so horribly wrong – if this had been real, he could've fixed everything. Save the republic, save the Jedi – save so many innocent lives.

"If this was real," he murmured, voice full of regret. "I could change everything"

Bant stilled in his arms and then pulled back to look at him. "What did you say?" she asked, confused.

"Nothing," Obi-Wan sighed. "Just thinking too much. Thank you, Bant," he said, and squeezed her hand. "Thank you for everything."

"You're… Obi-Wan, you're just going to go to the AgriCorps," she said slowly. "We will see each other again, right? You will contact me at least, won't you?"

"We will see each other again," he agreed and smiled. "It just won't be the same."

She looked at him worriedly. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "Was it Bruck – did he say something? You know he always does – he always says something and it's never true and yet you always let it get to you."

"It's not Bruck," Obi-Wan laughed – he couldn't remember a single thing Bruck had ever said to him, not really. He could remember the general concepts and feelings, but not the actual words. "I'm just entertaining a bit of make believe when I really should know better. Never mind me, I'm just an ol… I'm just a fool."

"You're not a fool," Bant answered, now looking really worried as she eyed him. "Did you get hit over the head? Did Bruck tip you over? Have you seen the healers – no wait, what am I saying, of course you haven't. Maybe you _should_."

Obi-Wan laughed helplessly at that – it was so very much like her. Vision or memory, it had captured her spirit from their Initiate years perfectly. "No, I'm fine," he said. "Honestly."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "I thought you'd be angry," she said. "About the AgriCorps."

Oh, He had been. Bitter and crushed and beyond frustrated. But that was long ago. "I'm fine," he said. "Whatever will be, will be." Bant didn't look at all happy with that but Obi-Wan just shook his head and squeezed her hands gently before releasing them. "You're a good friend, Bant. You've always been a good friend. Thank you."

She nodded, still looking dissatisfied. "I'll miss you," she said.

"I'll see you eventually," Obi-Wan promised. "I don't know how long it will take me. But I'll get there."

Bant nodded and then, taking a breath and obviously trying not to cry, she turned and left, leaving him alone again with the physical memories of days long gone. Obi-Wan stood there for a moment, breathing in the scent of ocean still lingering in the air.

Then he considered the conversation in detail, Bant's reactions and his own words. He was fairly certain that the conversation, if it had really played out in his past, hadn't gone as this one had – he had changed it with his incorrect reactions. If a conversation could be different, then…

Would he have to go through his memories and recollections and experiences like this, one by one? Was that really the point of this? Or could he change events? Perhaps the point of this was not to examine the past as it had been, but as it could've been?

He turned it over in his head for a moment, examining the idea from both sides until he saw the merits and failings of both. He could learn much from the examination of his past as it had been – but the idea of exploring avenues he never had taken, and later wished he might have had its allure, certainly. He'd gone by a select set of choices in his life, and he had seen the outcome. A Jedi should not muddle his decisions by concerning himself with would be's and could be's that never came to pass and yet…

Still, it was impossible to say which was right and what he was meant to do. Not, he suspected, without actually trying.

So, he picked up the datapad with his orders and then scrolled through the assignment, reading it through. There, on the bottom, was the contact for those who had issues with their orders.

With would be's and could be's very thoroughly muddling his decision, Obi-Wan declined his assignment to Bandomeer – and with it, his place in the Jedi Order.


	2. Chapter 2

Yoda hummed deep in his throat, reading over the young Initiate's message. Young Kenobi had written eloquently, when he'd declined his assignment to Bandomeer and to the Agricultural Branch of the Service Corps. Very eloquently indeed.

_I find that at this time, I would learn no lessons and reach no peace in the service of the AgriCorps and I fear I will only end up growing bitter and frustrated by the hand dealt to me. In order to avoid what I can only see as my own eventual downfall into the shadow of disappointment, I have decided to find my path elsewhere._

There was more said, and all of it written quite fluently – and for all that the youngling had mentioned emotions, the message itself was almost passionless. It simply stated a need to avoid frustration and bitterness, but lacked their presence as a whole.

"Curious, this is," Yoda finally commented, stroking his chin. He looked up at Docent Vant, who was trying very hard not to wring her hands. "Write this, young Kenobi himself did?"

"Right in front of me, Master, when I demanded it," the young Twi'lek Jedi assured him. "In ten minutes flat, too."

"Curious indeed," Yoda said, leaning back and reading over the message again. He had read Kenobi's writing before, in the form of articles, dissertations and quite a number of essays, and though the boy had a depth of thought and could analyse and theorise at the level of senior Padawans at times, this eloquence was quite new to him.

"He's trying to make an ultimatum," Vant said, disapproving and faintly embarrassed.

Yoda glanced up. "Ultimatum, you see here, Master Vant?" he asked, and tapped the datapad with a fingernail.

"He can't become a Knight so he quits being a Jedi altogether," Vant said, shaking her head. "It's childish and foolish and I thought better of him, I really did."

"Hmm," Yoda answered and read the message a third time. "Ultimatum I see here not," he said. "A change I see. Docent Vant, how seems young Kenobi to you?"

She hesitated. "Confused," she said finally. "Honestly, Master, I thought he might've been in shock. He didn't expect it at all, when I brought him the orders for Bandomeer, despite everything. They caught him completely off guard. But…" she trailed away.

"But?" Yoda prodded.

"There's a…" she hesitated and then squeezed her hands into fists. "Obi-Wan was… serene."

Yoda waited but she didn't continue. "Serene," he repeated. "At peace with his choice, the youngling is?"

"I suppose that could be what it was, but it felt… deeper," Vant said and then shook her head. "I must've mistaken it somehow, but he did seem at peace with his choice – definitely more than one could expect. Especially after the fight he had with Bruck Chun."

"Hmm. The fight, I have reviewed," Yoda said thoughtfully. "A droid was present; the whole fight recorded was. Emotional, young Kenobi was. Goaded to the fight, he was, by Bruck Chun."

"Like he always is," Vant said with a sigh glancing between him and the datapad. "Are we going to let Obi-Wan leave the Order?"

"Slavery the life of Jedi is not. Prison the Order is not," Yoda said thoughtfully. "Leave he can, if he wishes to. But talk to him, I must, before the chance is lost. Where is Young Kenobi?"

"In his quarters," Vant said, her shoulders slumping slightly with relief. "I'll send him to you, shall I?"

"Do so," Yoda said, handing the datapad over. "See him I will, as soon as he arrives."

"Yes, Master," she nodded and then hurried off, still looking conflicted.

"Curious indeed this is," Yoda murmured again and stood up from where he was sitting, taking his gimer stick and walking to the window.

He had been watching over young Obi-Wan Kenobi all the young man's stay in the Temple – the same as he did with all other Initiates. The human boy had been remarkable in his own way – a determined boy, strong in the Unifying Force, and ever growing stronger. Though a tad too head strong and very likely to give into his emotions, there had always been a sense of great potential about the boy. A potential for growth and wisdom and strength. A Knight in the making, if Yoda had ever seen one – and he had seen many such younglings grow into great Knights and Masters, during his long career.

This sudden resignation was unprecedented. Especially now, with Qui-Gon in the Temple.

Humming to himself, Yoda rested his hands on the gimer stick and watched the traffic of Coruscant outside the window, frowning. He had sensed a bond between Master Qui-Gon Jinn and young Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not a bond already existing, no, but one that could, with effort, become something remarkable and strong.  He had sensed it in Qui-Gon, so long gone now without a companion to ground him, and he had sensed it in Obi-Wan, the potential finally unleashed and guided to its full measure. A good match.

"Extraordinary this is, hm," Yoda murmured, thinking again of the language of the message, the feel of it. Serene, Vant had said, and serene had been the feel of the message, too. Most peculiar indeed.

He waited, watching the traffic and wondering about the ways of the Force, until he felt an oddly muted presence approaching. Perking his ears a little, Yoda examined the signature curiously. It was Obi-Wan Kenobi, and yet it was not Obi-Wan Kenobi. His presence in the Force was altered. Muted – no… not muted.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was blending into the Force, like a skin changer blending into his environment.

"You wished to see me, Master Yoda?" the boy said, and Yoda turned around. Young Kenobi stood in front of him already in travel garb – Initiate tunic hidden under a cloak. Yoda looked him over with interest, taking in the way he stood, how he held his hands and shoulders. Not like he used to – nor like young Padawans did, when trying to imitate gravity. Young Kenobi stood there relaxed and calm, shoulders loose, hands held crossed over his belt.

"From the Order, you mean to resign," Yoda said, waving a hand at the door controls, and closing them, making the discussion private.

"Yes, Master Yoda," the young Initiate answered.

"Avoid the life of a farmer, you mean to," Yoda commented, less a statement and more a probe. He watched its impact on the young human in front of him with great interest – its complete _lack_ of an impact.

Young Kenobi said nothing, didn't move. He just stood there in polite attention, waiting.

"Explain to me your reasoning, you will," Yoda said, tapping the stick against the floor and walking back to his seat. "Judging you, I am not. Curious I am as to why your goals so quickly can change."

That made young Kenobi shift slightly, moving his weight from one foot to another before settling back into balance. "It is not that I think that being part of the Service Corps is not meaningful, or that it in some way lacks honour," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, and the words echoed oddly hollow – they meant nothing to Kenobi. An answer to an unspoken accusation that, had it been verbalised, wouldn't have even touched the boy.

"Is it not?" Yoda asked, curious. "Then what is it?"

"I feel my path is elsewhere," Kenobi answered.

"The path of Obi-Wan Kenobi, you speak of – or of the path of the Force, as it is laid for Obi-Wan Kenobi?" the Master asked.

The boy considered it and then nodded. "The path of Obi-Wan Kenobi in the Force," he said.

"Think Will of the Force you will elsewhere find?"

"The Force is everywhere," young Kenobi answered, not missing a beat.

"Teach to me the ways of the Force you need not," Yoda said, more amused than anything by the rebuttal. He leaned back and considered the boy as he stood there, still calm, still serene – blending into the background hum of the Force. When had Obi-Wan Kenobi learned such a trick, Yoda did not know, but were the boy standing in a group of people, he would not have been able to pick him out.

The calmness of him, however, was far more noticeable than his sudden control over his presence. A boy who had the day before fought and struggled to maintain control over his emotions now seemed the stillest of ponds in the whirlpools of the JediTemple. Though perhaps not a pond, for even a pond rippled. Less than water, Obi-Wan Kenobi felt like a rock, solid and steady and utterly unaffected.

Yoda hummed, stroking his chin and staring at him, feeling him. The boy didn't as much as budge, neither physically nor spiritually – and Yoda could not quite reach him. The boy's mind shifted away from him, and Yoda could only faintly get an impression of his emotions.

And their perfect, stone like calm.

What could elect such a change in someone so young? Time and experiences could – but it had only been a day, less than a day even. The previous afternoon this same boy had stood before Yoda, and he'd been struggling to swallow his anger. Now, that anger did not exist – it felt as if it never had.

Had the assignment to Bandomeer truly done this? Defeat and resignation – the death of a dream even – could change a person. But not this much.

"A change, you have gone through," Yoda said with certainty. "A different person, you are."

Kenobi considered that for a moment and then nodded. "Yes," he said, and nothing more.

Yoda hummed again and nodded. Then he felt the Force around the boy, around the mirage of blending that the boy created – and it too was calm. Whatever had transpired here, the Force was calm and still and not agitated. Whatever this was, it did not twist the Force like the touch of Darkness did.

"If now a Master choose you would, and ask you their Padawan to be," Yoda said slowly. "Your resignation would you withdraw?"

"I would not," Obi-Wan answered.

"If my Padawan I would ask you to be, would your answer unchanged remain?" the Master prodded again.

"I would still not withdraw my resignation, Master Yoda," the Initiate answered calmly. "I have decided to leave the Order," he added and then fell silent again, his words echoing with their certainty and finality.

Yoda harrumphed. "Decided you are," he murmured and leaned in. "Certain of your choice, you are. On what your certainty do you base?"

"The future."

Yoda nodded and looked down. He'd suspected at much. "And this future, you cannot see in the Jedi Order?"

Kenobi considered that. "It's… not that I haven't seen it," he said. "But that I have. And I know the outcome."

"And this outcome, you do not wish," Yoda said. "And change it you cannot from the Jedi Order?"

Kenobi said nothing for a moment, thinking about it. "I could," he said. "But chances are it would come out worse. I want to see… a better future. And I can't see that in the Jedi Order."

Yoda hummed, pressing his lips tightly together for a moment. "Certain of this you are," he said.

"I am, Master Yoda," young Kenobi said. "I apologise, but this is the way I wish to go."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Yoda trying again to probe the young Initiate's mind, and Kenobi sliding away from him like sand through his fingers. Kenobi had seen more than just a future. Far more. And he believed in his vision. A dangerous combination.

But was it more or less dangerous, to stand in his way.

 "Your resignation approve, I will, on one condition," he said.

"And this condition?" Kenobi asked, not batting an eye at it.

"Face Bruck Chun you will once more, in the arena," Yoda said. "For his decision on whether a Padawan he will take or not, Master Qui-Gon Jinn should a duel see. An even match for Bruck Chun you are. Only you his potential can bring out. Face the duel, and from the Jedi Order I will release you."

Obi-Wan Kenobi thought about it only for a moment, and then acquiesced with a bowed head. "I accept your condition," he said. "But don't think Master Qui-Gon Jinn's presence will make a difference. He will not choose me, and I will not become his Padawan."

"This too seen you have?" Yoda asked, arching an eyebrow.

Kenobi smiled and bowed his head again. "When will we fight?"

They fought later that afternoon. It had taken some persuasion on Yoda's part to get his fellow council members to agree – but in the end, they'd bent to his idea. Obi-Wan Kenobi had made his plans to leave clear and that irked many. It was not something Initiates did, simply enough – though quite a few did choose to leave the Service Corps, after few years. And there was the sad Lost Twenty, which no one much liked to think of. But an Initiate of the Temple, yet unassigned, choosing to leave? It was nearly unheard of. It endeared young Kenobi to no one.

But Kenobi was skilled with a lightsaber, and the only one of Bruck Chun's age group who could match the aggressive boy, so it was decided that Kenobi's last act as an Initiate of the Jedi Order would be to serve as the opponent of Bruck Chun's demonstrative duel.

"Your attempt to match the boy with Jinn is very nearly disgraceful, Master Yoda," Mace Windu commented, as they settled to watch the duel. In the arena, Bruck Chun was warming up and Obi-Wan Kenobi simply stood waiting.

"That, my plan is, hm?" Yoda asked, glancing at him. "Talk with the boy, I did. Unshakeable, his plans are."

Windu arched an eyebrow at that. "So why the match?"

"See Obi-Wan Kenobi fight, I wish," Yoda answered. "Before he leaves, his skills I wish to see."

"You see his skills every day," the other Master said, frowning.

"His current skills seen I have not."

Windu looked like he would've liked to comment on that, but instead he glanced up as they were joined by another Master. "I was starting to wonder if you decided to skip, Qui-Gon," he commented.

"When the council makes such a request one can but bend to the council's will," Qui-Gon answered, taking a seat on Yoda's other side. He looked irritated, Yoda noticed, but then he always was whenever the council asked him to view Initiates for prospective Padawans. "So, these are the two eldest of the current group?" he asked with very little interest.

Windu glanced meaningfully at Yoda. "Bruck Chun," he said, nodding to the white haired boy. "And Obi-Wan Kenobi. Both very close to their thirteenth birthdays."

"Hmm," Qui-Gon answered, leaning back. Yoda glanced at him and then hid a smile behind his hand. Qui-Gon was not ready for another Padawan, everyone could see that – but as long as he kept avoiding the subject, he never would be ready. And a shame it would be, if Qui-Gon would never train another young Knight. The man had far too many great and useful talents for them not to be passed on.

But that was no longer the key issue here.

In the arena, the duel commenced. The change in young Kenobi was immediately obvious. He went from calm to battle ready in an instant, lightsaber swiftly ignited. But he did not attack – nor did he truly defend. He waited, ready and not quite open - simply expecting an attack.

And he got it immediately – Bruck Chun wasted no time in trying to take advantage of what he saw as a blatant opening, rushing at it with lightsaber high and ready. Far too wild. Obi-Wan avoided the far-reaching attack easily, stepping aside and using his lightsaber to direct it to the ground easily, and then he stepped back. There was a plenitude of openings he could've taken – but he did not.

Qui-Gon frowned. "What was that?" he asked quietly.

Bruck Chun attacked again, swifter, less wild, and Obi-Wan Kenobi met the attack with a block that again directed the offending plasma blade away. It happened again and again – every time their lightsabers met, young Kenobi did not so much turn it into a match of strength, as he used young Chun's strength to throw his attack astray. It was a tactic that shouldn't have worked as well as it did, but it did because of one reason.

Young Kenobi was far more aware of his surroundings than Bruck Chun was. Not as a space, but as potential movement. While Bruck Chun was single mindedly concentrated on getting his lightsaber where he wanted it to go, in facing blocks and barriers and getting his attacks through, Obi-Wan Kenobi was mindful of where he himself could go. When he re-directed Bruck Chun's blade, he smoothly moved out of its way letting the blade fall where he no longer was. Redirect and parry, parry and redirect.

And so, he was expending Bruck's energy at a swift pace, all the while preserving his own stamina.

There was a studious carefulness about his movements, though. Yoda considered his footwork closely and nodded to himself. Obi-Wan Kenobi was keeping near rigorous control over his own movements. Not in an attempt not to over step, or even not to reveal too much. No, he moved more like someone who'd just come from an extended stay in micro gravity.

Or like someone trying to adjust to an altered body.

The fight ended not with either of them winning or forfeiting. It ended with Bruck Chun stumbling and stopping to catch his breath while Obi-Wan Kenobi stood waiting for him to attack again – pointedly not taking advantage of the plainly open form of his opponent in front of him. It was obvious that Bruck's energy had been spent – to force him to fight any more would be pushing it too far.

"Enough," Yoda called and stood up. He'd seen enough. "Enough that is."

"What was that supposed to be?" Windu asked, sounding oddly offended even as Qui-Gon Jinn stood up as well. Yoda ignored them both and approached the two combatants. Bruck was flushed red and his face gleamed with sweat. Obi-Wan was not entirely unaffected, his collar damp and his breath a little uneven as well – but he could've kept going. His strategy, as much as it had made a fool of young Bruck, had been an effective one.

And it had told Yoda very little of his fighting style.

Obi-Wan Kenobi de-activated his lightsaber and bowed smoothly to Yoda. Bruck hurried to do the same, panting for breath as he did.

"Good, very good," Yoda said. "Word with you, young Kenobi."

"Yes, Master Yoda," the young man answered. Qui-Gon fell in step with them, and Kenobi only glanced at him with passive interest before simply looking ahead. Yoda led both of them aside, to the dressing chamber.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Qui-Gon asked what was on Yoda's mind as well.

Kenobi glanced at him, and then turned to fetch a cloth to dry his face with.

"To conserve strength, we teach our students," Yoda commented. "Conserve your strength you did, young Kenobi."

And that, he thought was the point of the whole thing.

"Conserve strength, yes," Qui-Gon agreed, folding his arms. "But that was something different. You didn't as much fight as you allowed your opponent to fight at you. What would you have done, if your opponent had been a more defensive one?"

"I would've matched my approach accordingly," young Kenobi answered.

"As far as a demonstration of your skills goes, that was not a very good one," Qui-Gon commented. "All I saw was one strategy."

"It was not my demonstration, my skills were irrelevant," Kenobi answered calmly as he ran the towel over his neck. Setting the towel aside, he turned to Yoda. "Master Yoda?"

"Resigning from the Order, young Kenobi is," Yoda said, somewhat reluctantly, glancing up at Qui-Gon, who towered over Kenobi and Yoda both. "As a favour, he agreed to duel Bruck Chun. Right he is – irrelevant his skills to you are."

"Resigning?" Qui-Gon asked, frowning at Kenobi, glancing him up and down. "I suppose you are old for an Initiate. And are leaving in order to avoid disappointment."

Oddly enough, Kenobi smiled at that. "Yes," he said. "Among other things."

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. "So sure I would not choose you," he said. "Even having never met me, you were already sure of it."

"I was," the youth agreed easily.

In any other circumstances, the spark of life in Qui-Gon's eyes might've amused Yoda, maybe even pleased him. For all that Qui-Gon was a rebellious, often passionate Jedi; he had been so very closed-off for so long. To see him affected, even in such a minor way, was a small victory in an on-going war against the man's complete isolation from the rest of the Jedi. However…

"You are right. I will not choose you for my Padawan," Qui-Gon said finally. "I might have, before. But I have no use for a Padawan who prefers to forfeit before an imagined failure."

Kenobi simply nodded his head at the words. "I can respect that," he said simply.

Qui-Gon paused a bit at that, giving the boy a curious look before shaking his head. "Master Yoda," he said, nodding his head to the Master in farewell before turning to leave, and like so, the potential bond between him and Obi-Wan Kenobi and what might've been… was severed.

"In one future, your Master, he could've been," Yoda commented.

"In one future, he was," Obi-Wan Kenobi agreed with a hint of regret and then smiled sadly. "But I already saw that future. And now I need to see another."

Yoda hummed, not in agreement nor in disagreement. "Approve your resignation from the Jedi Order, I do. File the orders myself, I will. My objection you will know, but stand in your way I will not. A promising young Jedi we lose today, and less for it, we will be."

The boy bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Yoda. I'm sorry for causing such trouble, but I appreciate your good will."

"Hmph," Yoda answered. "Waste this is, but certain you feel. No more to say there is. In contact, you should remain," he said and nodded. "Always open, my door will be."

Obi-Wan Kenobi bowed his head again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I make stuff up liberally.

Shmi stood silently while Se-Lippa powdered her face.

"Can't do much with you," the Togruta muttered as she did what she could with Shmi's face, trying to make it more presentable – or presentable as she saw it, anyway. "You're so plain. But at least you're not hideous, for a human, for all the good that it will do us. Lift your head, girl, come on now."

Shmi said nothing, didn't as much as sigh – just lifted her face more to the light. She knew this routine from old, and was as weary of it as she was wary of making Se-Lippa angry at her. Not that there was ever telling what made Se-Lippa angry – most often than not, Shmi made her angry just by being around.

Se-Lippa made a displeased sound and after a few more prods with the powder brush, she stepped back. "Right. Turn around now, let me have a look at you," she ordered, and obediently Shmi turned where she stood, making a careful shuffling circle. Se-Lippa clucked her tongue. "You'll do," she decided. "Mind those clothes now."

Shmi opened her eyes cautiously, watching how her owner set aside the make-up kit. She felt uncomfortable in the fine white dress Se-Lippa had put on her, her skin itching with the rough scrubbing she'd been given. Her hair had been done up in an unnecessarily elaborate hairdo that Shmi doubted very much would do anything to enhance her perceived worth. It felt too tight and was pulling at her scalp unpleasantly.

But if Se-Lippa thought it satisfactory, who was Shmi to argue?

"Now, you will be on your best behaviour, you hear me?" Se-Lippa said, giving her a narrowed look. "No funny looks, no funny walks – you'll be nice and meek and you won't say a word, you hear? I won't have you repeat last week's debacle."

"I try my best to behave," Shmi answered quietly.

Se-Lippa eyed her for a moment suspiciously and then nodded. "See that you do," she said and then glanced at her chronometer, her carefully painted lips thinning into a displeased line. "Well, no time like the present – maybe we'll be able to catch an early window shopper. Get my things ready, girl."

Shmi bowed her head quickly and then hurried to get her owner's things – mainly, the bag and parasol Se-Lippa carried with her when she went out. As she did, she tried to swallow the clotted ball of nervous anxiety that seemed to have lodged itself in her throat.

Today was a market day. Today, if Se-Lippa's plans and careful preening paid out, Shmi would be sold.

Or not. There had been market days before – three of them so far, and so far no one had bought Shmi – or even paid much attention to her really. For a human she was very plain looking – and she was too old to be trained, well past her teenage years. With dark hair and skin that tanned at the merest hint of light and dark eyes, she was nothing remarkable, and nothing interesting. Even what little technical skills she had did nothing to improve her worth.

Se-Lippa was determined to get rid of her, however – and to get the money she was worth. Shmi was the last bit of her sister's inheritance Se-Lippa had left to squander, and she was in evident _rush_ to do so. If Shmi would not be sold today, she'd be sold eventually. Se-Lippa would see to it.

Shmi swallowed her sigh at the thought and waited by the door nervously, as her owner puttered around the house, getting her more important things – the things Shmi wasn't allowed to touch – ready.

"Give me those," Se-Lippa said once she had everything ready. She grabbed her rich, gem encrusted bag and hung it onto the crook of her arm and took the parasol and opened it. With a last glance over Shmi, she shook her head. "Come along then," she said. "And behave yourself."

Shmi followed her out of the apartment and into the corridor beyond and finally out into the rust shaded streets of Besai-Di. There was more foot traffic in the spaceport than there usually was, people going to and fro – and far more slaves than there usually were. Not just a couple of them here and there, following in their master's wake, but whole groups of them, some of them walking in well-organized lines. Humans and Twi'leks mainly, but with many others too. Shmi could see a Wookie, and a Mon Calamari and even a whole dozen Ugnaughts and so many others.

Some of them, she noticed with a wince, were new slaves, still bloody and bruised from the beatings that had broken them.

Se-Lippa turned her nose at them, ignoring even the little Togruta girl that followed behind her Dug master, obviously trying not to cry. "Looks like a lot of trash, this week," she muttered and shook her head. "Come on, girl."

Shmi lowered her eyes to avoid seeing the little girl or her tears – or the countless others who were in a similar state. Instead she followed her owner through the streets and towards the central hub of the space port, the trade station itself. It loomed over the rest of the city, grand and majestic and utterly out of place, its design older and fairer than that of the near-slums around it.

Everything and anything that was available in the Arkanis sector could be bought and sold there, from space ships and asteroids to drugs and spices. The main trade good of Besai-Di was slaves, though – and though they exchanged hands daily, once a week there was a grand open market for the exhibition and auction of slaves. The auctions could get… enormously high.

Shmi wasn't going to be auctioned off, however. Se-Lippa wasn't nearly influential or wealthy enough to be able to get on the stage with her goods, no. Her hope was to sell her slave between auctions – to use someone's failure at bidding to tempt them to take a less worthy replacement for a bit cheaper… or just to push her off on someone trying to fill a certain quota perhaps.

At this point, Shmi was certain Se-Lippa would've sold her to anyone at all, so as long as she got enough money out of it.

"Come on," Se-Lippa said, as they entered the trade hall itself – an enormous space full of people, with the auction stage at the further end of it, held above the crowd. There was already a group of slaves there – human men mostly, all of them beaten and bruised. Spacers, judging by the looks of them – probably been caught along with their ship.

And on the floor there were dozens of Hutts, jeering at the slave trader trying to make the spacers seem like a worthy bargain.

Shmi shivered, thanking her lucky stars she had never been pretty enough to catch the eye of an Hutt. When she'd been younger, a couple had looked at her with interest, yes, but not for a couple years now. And, if she had any luck left, then none of them ever would again.

"Pardon me, my dear sir," Se-Lippa said, inching her way towards a rough looking Gran. "I couldn't help but notice that you seem to favour human slaves – tell me, might your boy there be in need of a companion?"

And so it began. Shmi stood back, staring demurely at the dirty floor of the trade hall, as Se-Lippa made her sales speech. Ruefully Shmi wondered if she was lucky or not that Se-Lippa wasn't much of a saleswoman. Lucky in that it would make it even more difficult for Se-Lippa to sell her to someone worse than she herself was. And unlucky, as it would also make it so much less likely that she might find herself in… kinder hands than Se-Lippa's.

Wondering about it was meaningless, she thought and tried to calm herself. She had no say in the matter, not really, and she didn't dare to make her current owner mad at her again. So she stayed quiet and listened with a heavy heart and weary mind, how Se-Lippa listed her merits and benefits and tried to barter her off like she was a piece of bantha liver.

It was not going well for Se-Lippa. The auctions were going on and on – the cheaper, rougher slaves had been taken off the stage and the real bartering began as group of young Twi'lek girls were pushed onto the stage. The Hutts were getting into the auction now, calling their bids and grunting insults at each other. As the business of the stage grew more heated, the less attention people paid to Se-Lippa and her pitiful, plain human slave.

Shmi was starting to suspect that she'd be left to be sold another day, when she felt something touch her hand. Trying not to jump, she turned, and saw a cloaked figure, examining her. A little shorter than she was, it was hard to say _what_ it was, the dark sandy cloak covered it from head to toe, and under the deep hood the figure wore an odd mask.

"M'um m'aloo," the being said, tilting its head to the side. It sounded… male, but that was all Shmi could say. "Ikee kee eota kiminay, eyeta."

"W-what?" Shmi asked, surprised – and Se-Lippa rounded on her, her eyes blazing. Quickly Shmi backed away from the odd cloaked figure, bowing her head down.

"Oh," Se-Lippa said, first with dismay but then with increasing interest. "Oh, well. Hello there, my friend. Does my little human interest you?"

"Ibana," the cloaked figure said, turning its masked attention to Se-Lippa instead. "Etee uwanna waa. Go mob un loo?"

Se-Lippa frowned. "You're a Jawa? You're far away from home, my little friend. I don't speak Jawaese, though. Do you speak Huttese?"

The cloaked figure tilted its head a bit at that, and then it touched Shmi shoulder. "Cheeka bedwanna," it said awkwardly at Se-Lippa. "Che copah?"

That brought a light in Se-Lippa's eyes. "That depends entirely on what you have to pay with, my little friend," she said and motioned to the further side of the hall. "How about we sit down to discuss it in private?"

The Jawa nodded and followed Se-Lippa to the tables, though he did not sit down. Shmi trailed after them nervously, trying not to look at the Jawa too obviously. Of all the people and beings she'd come into contact with, she'd never hear of a Jawa before. Of course there were a lot of things she didn't know, a lot of people she'd never heard off… but to see a wholly new race like this, when it showed interest in _her_ was… extremely worrisome.

She could tell, roughly, what Hutts where like. She could've known how to react, if a Human, or a Twi'lek, or a Toydarian would've bought her. She knew what to expect from most those who partook in slave trade and she could've prepared herself for most things… but this was an unknown she hadn't expected.

Silently she kicked herself for it – for having somehow grown complacent, after all this time. There was very little that was _predictable_ in the life of a slave. She should've known better.

At the table, Se-Lippa and the Jawa bartered, sly and pleased on the Togruta's side, and faltering and awkward on the Jawa's. His grasp on Huttese wasn't very good and he stumbled over words, falling into the chittering language he'd started with often and awkwardly. But somehow, a bargain was struck – one which, Shmi noted without much pleasure, was rather beneficial for Se-Lippa.

"It has been a _pleasure_ to conduct business with you," Se-Lippa said, as the money exchanged hands, followed shortly by the controller of Shmi's tracker and the necessary forms.

"Taa baa," the Jawa answered, taking the controller and turning it in its gloved hand once or twice before hiding it under its cloak. "Ubanya," it nodded to Se-Lippa, before turning and taking Shmi by the sleeve, and turning her away from her former master.

And like so, before she could catch her breath, Shmi was sold.

"Utinni, eyeta," the Jawa said, tugging at her to move and then said, in perfectly understandable basic, "Come on. I've a ship in dock that might not be there for much longer, in this place."

"Y-you –" Shmi said and then quickly swallowed the rest of the sentence, her mind whirling and coming to no easy explanation. In the end, she didn't get the time to really think on it either – the Jawa pulled her across the trade hall and out of the building, brooking no objections. No one paid them much mind, and why should they? Shmi was just one more reluctant slave, being herded off by her new master – just one such sight amongst dozens, and utterly unremarkable.

The Jawa said nothing the entire walk from the trade station to the docks, where he exchanged a few awkward words of Huttese with the dock guards before taking Shmi towards a disreputable looking little ship, a transport that was barely bigger than a shuttle.

"Apologies for the accommodations," the Jawa said as they ducked inside through a cramped little opening. Inside, there was barely enough room to turn – a couple of bunks and a cockpit and very little else. "It's not much, but it's space worthy."

"I…" Shmi said and shook her head, trying to clear it. There was something… something _strange_ happening here, and she wasn't quite sure what. There was a sense of urgency and secrecy about the whole thing. The Jawa certainly seemed to be in a hurry to get out – he was already at the controls, prepping the ship quickly and expertly for flight.

It… almost felt like they were fleeing.

But that made no sense, did it? If the Jawa was fleeing from someone, why had he stopped to buy a slave?

"Sit down and strap yourself in," the Jawa ordered, motioning at the co-pilot's seat. "The sooner we're off this rock, the better."

Shmi swallowed her confusion and sat down. As soon as she'd managed to buckle herself into the extremely uncomfortable seat – not made for humans, she suspected – the Jawa punched in the launch sequence. A moment later, they were lifting off from the Besai-Di space port and gaining altitude fast – as fast, Shmi suspected, as the ship's construction allowed. It shook horribly as they made their way through C-Foroon's atmosphere.

And then, the moment they'd cleared it, before Shmi could even come to terms with the fact that she was suddenly leaving that horrible planet behind… they were already in hyperspace, stars stretching across the view screen and the entire ship shuddering under the strain of it.

While Shmi stared outside with wide eyes, the Jawa let out a sigh and finally relaxed. "Sorry about that. Doing business in Hutt territories always makes me nervous," he said and pushed his hood back, revealing a mess of auburn hair under it. Then, without a pause, he took off the mask.

He was a Human. A Human _boy_ at that.

While Shmi stared at him in astonishment, the boy smiled pleasantly at her, holding out his hand. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, at your service."

"Ah… Shmi Skywalker, at… at yours," Shmi said, thrown utterly out of loop now. She accepted the hand though, blinking rapidly at the warm, solid grip.

"Apologies for the play acting," the boy said, turning to the controls and letting his fingers fly over them for a moment. "A Human boy acting alone raises too many questions, I'm afraid. Are you hungry?" he then asked. "I don't have much here, but there's enough for a meal."

"I… no, I am… I'm not hungry," Shmi said, staring at him in bewilderment. She wanted desperately to ask what was going on, why he had bought her, what… what was _happening_ , but she didn't know where to even begin, or how – or if she dared to.

Anyone buying or needing a slave was, in Shmi's books, a bad thing. But a human boy, not yet out of his teenage years?

The boy, Obi-Wan, glanced at her and smiled. "I guess I deserve that look," he said. "I'm sorry for not explaining myself - it was simply the easiest way to go about things. And if I had shown any greater interest in you, your previous owner might've upped the price, and I didn't have that much to barter with. Rest assured, Shmi Skywalker – I did not buy you for any nefarious purposes."

Shmi nodded slowly. "Why did you buy me?" she asked suspiciously. "And how…?" How had a human boy gotten the money, the ship – the disguise – to do it?

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, his fingers stilling over the controls. Then he rested his hands on the console panel and looked at her. Shmi leaned back a bit, surprised by the sheer power of his stare. It seemed to have an actual weight to it, and the look in his eyes only made it worse. It was far more knowledgeable, than his smooth, young face should've allowed.

Far older.

"I bought you, Shmi Skywalker, because you're pregnant," he said softly. "And I can feel the child inside you, shining like a star."


	4. Chapter 4

Yoda sat back in his seat as the hologram projector activated, projecting an image of a figure on the chair across the low table between them.

Obi-Wan shimmered faintly, his blue visage slightly transparent as he smiled at the old Jedi. "Master Yoda," he said in greeting. "Apologies for missing our last communication – something came up and couldn't be put off."

"Alright it is, Obi-Wan. Good it is to see you again," Yoda said, pleased. The young man looked well, so whatever had kept him could not be too bad. "Hopefully something serious it was not."

"Oh, it was plenty serious, but not… a bad sort of serious," the young man answered, reaching forward and tinkering a bit with his side of the communication. A moment later, a grid pattern and a set of game pieces were projected onto the table between them.

Smiling, Yoda reached and took out his set of game pieces, setting them one by one onto the hologram grid in opposition against Obi-Wan's pieces. "Your studies how go?" he asked, as Obi-Wan examined the board between them.

"They're going well," Obi-Wan nodded and reached forward, moving a pawn a couple spaces forward. "Thank you again for speaking with the headmaster – it's much easier for me to do this at long distance. I've managed to take few of the preparatory exams already, via a hologram, but I will have to come to Coruscant in person to take the final exams."

"Already final exams?" Yoda asked, but not really with surprise. He got reports from the headmaster of Obi-Wan's university – he knew how fast the young man was progressing with his studies. Alarmingly fast sometimes. While the school staff itself chalked it up as nothing usual – as something to be simply expected of a former Jedi Initiate – Yoda knew better.

Obi-Wan knew things he couldn't have learned in the Jedi Temple. Things _no one_ could've learned in the Jedi Temple.

"Well, not for a couple of months at least," Obi-Wan said, folding his arms. "Maybe for a bit more – I might have to put it off a bit for personal reasons."

"In trouble, you are not?" Yoda asked, and reached forward to move a piece on the shimmering blue grid.

"Not in trouble. Just a bit busy for the moment," Obi-Wan said, smiling a pleased, satisfied smile that certainly perked Yoda's interest, all the while setting his worries to rest. Obi-Wan's smile was easy and free now, his good spirits extremely difficult to diffuse, but there was a difference between easy manners and easy smile, and this satisfied sort.

"Done something, you have," Yoda said, pointing an almost accusing finger at the young former Jedi Initiate. "Right you think your plans are going."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, leaning forward and making another move on the chess board. "I am not getting complacent, Master – I don't have that sort of luxury. But this one thing I will take pleasure in – I've changed an enormously important thing. And I know I've done it for the better."

"Hm," Yoda answered, eying him and then moving a piece in return, moving it to engage Obi-Wan's pawn. "And tell me you will not, what you have done?"

Obi-Wan considered that, considered him for a moment and then smiled. He lifted his hand minutely, silencing his side of the communication with nearly negligent use of the Force, and then spoke out silently to someone that the projector wasn't picking up. Yoda watched it with great interest, the smile on Obi-Wan's face, the shine of his eyes, easily transmitted even through the projector. And then…

A sliver of a person appeared, a set of hands, which reached down to hand something small and, judging by their care, infinitely precious to Obi-Wan. Yoda blinked – and had he been younger and less experienced with the surprises of life, his mouth might've fallen open.

"Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan said, the audio returning as he shifted in his seat and gently supported the infant in his arms so that its head was resting against the crook of his elbow. "Meet Anakin."

Anakin was barely more than a new born, and was writhing slightly in Obi-Wan's arms. The young man captured a little flailing fist gently in his fingers and pressed an affectionate kiss against the little fingers, affection and love radiating from every move, and from the look on his face.

"Anakin," Yoda said slowly and leaned back, considering the image the young former Jedi Initiate made with the baby in his arms.

It had been four years now, since Obi-Wan had left the Temple to pursue his own path. Aside from their weekly holomeetings and what little Yoda knew of Obi-Wan's educational pursuits, Yoda didn't really know much of what the young man had been doing. Only that Obi-Wan had left Coruscant as soon as he had been able to gather the funds for it, and hadn't been back since.

Obi-Wan had never stopped being a Jedi – that Yoda knew for absolute certain. That was why he had kept in so close contact with the young man, and why he had not let the bond of friendship wither between them, no matter how busy he was with his duties. There was always that worry when a Jedi left the Temple, that they lost their way in the Light – that they fell to their more selfish pursuits, and through them to the Dark Side.

Obi-Wan never had – Obi-Wan never would. The young man might no longer follow the teachings and codes of the Temple, but he had not betrayed them. Yoda might not know how he lived now, or how deep his commitment to Force was, but he did not think Obi-Wan would so easily forget those deeply ingrained teachings that had governed Jedi lives for so long.

And yet there was a baby in Obi-Wan's arms, and the look he aimed at Anakin was pure with the love and amazement and devotion of a new father.

"This you were busy with, last week?" Yoda asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan smiled, smoothing a hand gently over Anakin's head before settling into a more comfortable position, one where he could hold the infant more comfortably. "He's now eight days old."

Yoda nodded, humming deep in his throat. He couldn't quite decide whether or not he was troubled by this turn of events. Obi-Wan was very young besides, for a human, to be having children. But the child of a Jedi… even a mere Jedi Initiate that had left the Temple and forsaken the teachings…

"Submit him to the testing, will you?" Yoda asked, watching Obi-Wan's face closely for a reaction.

Obi-Wan's smile stiffened just for a moment, and then eased. When he looked up, there was steel in his eyes. "I will not, Master," he said.

"Great danger there could be, in an untrained child," Yoda said warningly.

"Greater the danger, if he was trained," Obi-Wan said, turning his attention back to the child. "I will teach him and guide him, but he will not suffer Jedi Teachings. Not again. They strangled all life from him the last time." The last sentence he barely murmured, and had Yoda's hearing not been as good as it was, he might've missed it.

"Trust in the Jedi Teachings, you do not," Yoda commented sadly.

Obi-Wan considered that for a moment and then nodded. "I don't," he said, looking up. "I will not insult you by telling why or how I came to that conclusion, you would not believe me, and I'd only hurt you with my words. But no. I do not trust in the Teachings anymore. The Code… is wrong."

Yoda's ears drooped at that and he couldn't think of something to say, so deep was the disappointment.

Obi-Wan looked at him and smiled sadly. "Mine is still the way of Light, and of peace," he said, turning to Anakin. "And that's the way I will teach Anakin. But I will also teach him the way of love and compassion. He's my son and I will treat him as such," he said, and kissed the boy's forehead.

Yoda sighed, turning his attention for a moment to the game board between them. When he looked back at Obi-Wan, the young man's attention was fully on his son, in tracing Anakin's new-born features gently, obviously trying to ingrain them into his memory.

Obi-Wan had changed – but it was a change that had happened long ago. It was simply only now starting to shine through. At seventeen, he was a powerful, compactly built young man, and though he had long since lost his Jedi garb, he still favoured the style – though his tunic was simpler and the cloak made of cheaper material, one could still see the past life of a Jedi in them, and in the way Obi-Wan wore them.

When Obi-Wan had left the Temple, he'd been ordered to hand over his training saber. Its lack was the only thing that was missing from this image of a young Jedi Knight.

"Your lightsaber," Yoda said. "Show it to me, you will?"

Obi-Wan glanced up with a hint of surprise that turned into a rueful smile. Shifting a bit, he threw the lapel of his cloak aside, and revealed the handle of his weapon hanging there, at the side of his belt. He detached it, and then held it out for the hologram projector, for Yoda to see.

The design was simple, somewhat skeletal even, lacking quite a bit of the robustness most preferred in their lightsabers. It had been stripped of all that was unnecessary, Yoda mused. The emitter was somewhat separate from the rest of the handle, with a choke point in between holding the stabiliser, hinting at the power of the blade.

"Necessary for extra cooling, is it?" Yoda said.

Obi-Wan said nothing, as the lightsaber lifted into the air above his hand. It split apart easily, separating into its individual pieces which floated in the air in a broken up version of the saber. The parts were somewhat makeshift – nothing like the ready-made parts one could find at the Temple, specifically designed and created for the purpose. Obi-Wan, being cut off the Temple's resources, had been forced to make do with what he had, and it showed. But still, the result was an example of great craftsmanship and ingenuity.

It was a blade designed for power, carrying three focus crystals and even a backup power cell. It was not the weapon of defence, but of offence.

"The crystals," Yoda said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, wondering. "Where get them did you?"

"I made them," Obi-Wan answered and his fingers twitched as the lightsaber hilt snapped back together again, all of its pieces slotting into place, and reconfiguring back into the skeletal form. "Compressed Synthcrystals. The blade is blue, in case you were worried."

"I was not," Yoda said, smiling and glanced down at Anakin, who'd made a small noise in Obi-Wan's arms, wringing his little fists at the young man.

Obi-Wan put the lightsaber away again and rocked the boy in his arms a bit, easing him back to slumber. Yoda leaned back a bit, musing on what he'd learned. The lightsaber and its construction hinted at many things – Anakin's presence and the fact that Obi-Wan had not merely anticipated it, but the troubles it would bring as well, hinted at other things. There were many worrisome things happening here.

"When to Coruscant you come, to take your final exams," Yoda said. "Anakin will you bring?"

"I will not, Master," Obi-Wan laughed. "He will wait for me here, where it's safe."

"Coruscant safe is not?" the Jedi Master asked with surprise.

Obi-Wan simply gave him a look and shook his head. "Am I welcome to visit the Temple, when I come?"

"Always open my door is, told you this I did," Yoda said with a determined nod. "See you I will, I hope, when you come."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Obi-Wan smiled, both arms around Anakin now. "Shall we continue our game?"

"Your move, it is," Yoda nodded, motioning at the board – and Obi-Wan turned to the game. He did not shift his hold on Anakin, however, and when he made his move, he did it with the Force.

"Careless you are," Yoda commented, making a move in return.

"It's good practice," Obi-Wan answered calmly. "How is one to grow stronger in the Force, or wiser in its understanding, if one does not use it?"

"A toy, the Force is not."

Obi-Wan looked at him. "I have been thinking about that, actually," he said. "No, the Force is not a toy and no, it should not be used haphazardly and without care. But what reason is there to dissuade its use, especially in the young? That's one of the first lessons I remember from the Temple – that Force is not a toy and should not be played around with, should not be used outside lessons, should not be experimented with. Why not?"

"To prevent accidents and injuries – bad habits form can, when one is careless with the Force," Yoda answered. "Dark habits."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, maybe. But it also stops good habits from forming, it prevents the ease that comes with practice," he said. "It took me so long to learn instinctive use of the Force and I still struggle with it. I still have to stop and concentrate. In a fight, it's nothing but detrimental when I have to stop and centre myself before I can use the environment to my full advantage."

"In many fights, have you been?" Yoda asked thoughtfully.

Obi-Wan gave him a flat look. "You have the habit of missing the point down to an art form, Master Yoda."

Yoda grinned at that and then became serious again. "Plan to teach your son to play with the Force, do you? Dangerous path that is."

Obi-Wan just shook his head at that, opening his mouth to reply. Before he could, however, a sound came from the door and Yoda glanced away. A moment later, the doors slid aside and Mace Windu entered the room, carrying with him a datapad.

"Apologies, Master Yoda, Knight," His fellow Council member said, nodding to Obi-Wan, and handed the datapad to Yoda. "You asked me to inform you the moment Master Koon made contact. He's returned – his ship landed twenty minutes ago."

"Hmm," Yoda answered, taking the datapad and looking over the brief mission report. "Difficult his mission has been, but difficult we knew it would be. How bad the injury is?"

"Nothing a couple days in bacta won't fix, but it will be touch and go for a few hours," Windu said, looking at Obi-Wan and frowning with some confusion. "Initiate Kenobi?" he asked with surprise.

"Master Windu," Obi-Wan said with a nod, smoothly covering his lightsaber with the sleeve of his cloak. "It is a pleasure to see you well, Master."

Windu blinked at that and then looked down at Anakin, slumbering in Obi-Wan's arms. His expression darkened into a frown. "Seems you have been busy, Initiate."

"Oh yes," Obi-Wan agreed with a smile, glancing at Anakin fondly and turning to look at Yoda. "Perhaps we should postpone our game – it looks like you have work to do, Master."

"Work there always is," Yoda agreed but he stood up. "See to Master Koon, we should. Resume our game we will, next time, Obi-Wan."

"I look forward to it," the young man said, turning his attention fully to his son. "May the Force be with you, Master."

"And you as well, Obi-Wan," Yoda said. "Well I wish for you and your son. Take care of him, you will."

"Yes, I will," Obi-Wan agreed, and with a smooth wave of his fingers, ended the communication, his hologram disappearing with a faint shimmer, and taking with it his side of the game board.

"You're still in contact with Initiate Kenobi," Windu commented to Yoda, as the older Master picked up his stick.

"For years I have been and for years I will be, Force permitting," Yoda agreed. "Worry for him I do, often. Alone he is."

"Didn't seem like that to me," Windu answered, and together they stepped out of the chamber. "Seems like he's got himself a family. When did that happen?"

"Difficult to say," Yoda answered, though not evasively.

"He's very young to be having children, even for a human," Windu murmured and glanced at Yoda. "If you've been counselling him, why didn't you counsel him against it?"

"Counsel him, I do not. Control his actions, I do not," Yoda sighed and shook his head. "Matters it not. Know of the child I did not until recently. Nothing of his relationships to me has he revealed. Secretive he is."

"And yet still in contact with you," Windu said thoughtfully. "When is he bringing the boy for testing?"

"He is not."

The other Master frowned at that. "Then he is a worse fool than I thought," he said darkly. "Where is he?"

Yoda smiled. "Know that, I do not. Contact me he does, not the other way around," he said. "And a fool he is not. A follower of a different path, he is."

That made Windu stop in mid step and stare at him in astonishment. "There is only one other path," he said darkly. "You've encouraged him in this?"

Yoda answered by whacking the man across the shin with his gimer stick. "Think not in absolutes, Master Windu. More than one path there is and know this by now, you should. Varied the Force is. Much in between, there is. Dark, Obi-Wan is not. Neutral he is. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Neutral?" Windu asked with outrage, making a very good attempt of not hopping on one foot as he rubbed his stinging shin. "The Jedi are neutral!"

"Biased, the Jedi are," Yoda snorted. "Serve the Republic, we do."

"And he doesn't?" Windu asked darkly. "And what does that say about him?"

"That his own person he is, with a will of his own, and not in employment of a government he is. Matters this not," Yoda said. "Obi-Wan is not a Jedi, and not in our purview. What does he with his time and life – and his son –ours to meddle with it is not. Not unless harm he causes, and harm he has not caused."

"But his son –"

" _His_ son is. And nothing more."

Windu scowled at that for a moment and they resumed walking, Yoda looking over the datapad and the report. Yoda could feel the other Master centring himself, calming himself. "Why are you still in contact with him?" he then asked, looking down at the smaller Master.

"A friend he is, and friend to him, I am," Yoda said simply. And a confidant which, Yoda thought, was something Obi-Wan Kenobi rather needed in his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Obi-Wan took a public transport to Coruscant – four of them, actually, one of them going completely the wrong way to throw of any attempts at tracking his original location down. On three, he used a wrong name and fake ID. It was perhaps a bit over-zealous, as security measures went, but he'd decided early on that there were never too many security measures where it came to keeping Anakin's location secret.

At barely six months, Anakin was incredibly vulnerable, so much more than he had ever been in the previous life. Should a follower of the Dark Side find the boy now, and feel his already brilliant Force presence… forget turning, Anakin would be _raised_ to the Dark Side and be all the more terrible for it. It was a risk Obi-Wan would not take.

So, he wasted resources and time in making his path from the Outer Rim to the Core as complex and meandering as possible. By the time Coruscant finally came into the view of the awkward carrier that was his last ship, he was more than done with space travel for a while.

It was something he would have to get used to, soon, though.

"We will be landing at Coruscant Space-strip Eight in ten minutes," the captain announced through the intercom of the ship. "Please take this time to check your belongings and passports."

Obi-Wan did no such thing – he had with him only what he carried in his pockets. Instead he watched out of the window how the planet grew more and more detailed as they got closer, the rings visible from orbit blending into streets and buildings that soon bloomed into a field of sky scrapers that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The atmosphere of Coruscant was even viler than he remembered. The Darkness, though not as deep as it would be should things turn out as they had, was already thick in the air.

The carrier landed soon after, touching down at one of the many space ports, some eighty or so miles from the political centre of the planet – where both the Senate and the Jedi Temple could be seen in one glance. As the other passengers went to gather their things, Obi-Wan lifted the hood of his jacket up and slipped past them and out of the passenger area, carefully stepping past people and belongings until he was free of the general throng of the ship. He was among the first to get out, and one of the first through the disembarkation line, his passport checked and verified quickly and efficiently by the droids.

"Welcome back to Coruscant, Mister Obi-Wan Kenobi," the customs droid said, handing his passport chip back. "If you are in need of a transport, there will be a number of air taxis waiting in the station front side."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan answered with a nod, smiling ruefully at the name. For more than two years now he'd gone by Ben Skywalker – and Ben Kenobi for nineteen before that. Only Yoda and Shmi called him Obi-Wan these days. It was little odd to hear a droid say it.

But that was beside the point.

Obi-Wan took the first air taxi available and set the course for the Jedi Temple. As the taxi took off, he used the speeder's communicator to place a call to Yoda. It was taken by one of the attendants at the temple instead.

"I have your appointment here. However, Master Yoda is in a Council meeting and it's scheduled to last at least another hour," the attendant said, her hologram flickering slightly on the taxi's cheap projector pad. "You're welcome to wait at the Temple, with limited access to the main areas."

"That sounds fine," Obi-Wan said, checking his chrono. It wouldn't be until the next day before his exams at the university, so he certainly had the time. "I'll be there in ten minutes or so. I'll wait outside, at the main entrance."

"Very well," the attendant answered. "I'll inform Master Yoda of your arrival once the Council session ends. May the Force be with you."

"And you also," Obi-Wan answered and ended the communication.

The slight hurt he felt at the sight of the Jedi Temple wasn't entirely unexpected. It was muted now and not the all consuming grief it had been, but it would probably always be there. Along with it came the echoes of the void of life he'd felt in that future which, Force permitting, no longer existed.

Somewhere in his heart, he still felt the Temple as it had been, after all the attendants had been slain and the Jedi butchered. Initiates, Padawans, Masters, Knights, all destroyed, their _absence_ like a black hole in the heart of the temple. It was a wound he knew would never heal – even when the injury itself no longer existed.

Last time he'd been here, he'd been too confused to really appreciate the feeling, but now, almost five years and quite a few lessons later, he welcomed it. It was a lesson, a painful one perhaps, but one he dared not to forget. With Anakin's birth and his rapid growth in life and Force both, Obi-Wan embraced this lesson almost greedily. It and the pain it brought with it was what would happen, should he fail again.

The air taxi landed near the front steps of the Temple entrance, and after paying his fare, Obi-Wan stepped out. As the air taxi took off again smoothly, Obi-Wan straightened his back and breathed in. The smell of synthesised air and oxygen was always the same on Coruscant, always a little off in comparison to planets where plants produced the breathable air rather than machines… but at least here the Force itself was clear.

Breathing in and out, Obi-Wan took in the Temple's visage, both in and out of the Force. The signatures of the Jedi, from the calm Masters to the strong Knights, the bright and shining Padawans and the young, quickly growing Initiates washed over him, and he welcomed that too as another reminder, another lesson. The Temple and it's devoted following felt like a mountain now, impenetrable and immovable.

And yet how easily they'd fallen.

Obi-Wan took a step and then another, taking shade in the shadows of the ziggurat before turning to face the rest of Coruscant. There, across the distance, stood the main centre of the planet – and at its heart, the Senate building. Not yet the axis of murky darkness it had become, he could still feel the hint of it already there, at the heart of it.

It wasn't just Palpatine, who had twisted it. It wasn't even just the Sith or the Dark Side that had done it. Greed and avarice had done it too. Power had done it. A long, long line of politicians looking after their own interests rather than those of their people, had done it. Darkness lived in the Senate like taint in the walls of a rotten house. The Sith had simply kindled it into a rot that had consumed all.

That taint was Obi-Wan's enemy here. It and its consumers.

"Those look like some dark thoughts on your face," a voice commented, and Obi-Wan looked up. A Jedi stood in front of him – a young blonde woman that took Obi-Wan a moment to place.

"Siri?" he asked. "Siri Tachi?"

She blinked with confusion and then looked at him closely. "Obi-Wan?" she asked almost suspiciously, taking a step towards him. Then her face cleared into surprise. "It is you! Force, I almost didn't recognize you – you're so tanned! And you've grown. It's been so long – where have you _been_?"

Obi-Wan smiled at her, taking her in with some regret. He'd barely kept contact with anyone in the Temple – he sent a couple of textual messages to Bant and the others, but those only rarely. It was more for their benefit than his, and he'd been decreasing communication with time. The less contact he kept with the outside, the better – every communication could be tracked, after all.

"I've been travelling, mostly," Obi-Wan said and nodded at her, at her Padawan braid. "Congratulations."

"Oh, well," Siri touched the braid somewhat ruefully, looking guilty. "It happened a while back, actually – I'm already on my fourth year as a Padawan… but let's not talk about that – how have you been?" she asked, almost wincing.

Obi-Wan chuckled. No doubt he was a source of pity among his former crèche mates and fellow Initiates. An Initiate that, instead of becoming a farmer, had taken his leave from the Order. What a pitiable creature he must be in their eyes. "I've been well," he said. "I've been studying, actually."

She grasped at the offered topic of conversation gratefully, looking relieved. "Studying? Studying what?"

They talked a moment about Obi-Wan's student career at the university – she with increasingly wide eyes as he failed to show any sign of remorse at the topic, when he even displayed some pride. At seventeen he was nowhere near the youngest human to graduate with a doctorate, but he'd only been a student at the university for three years, and all of his lessons he'd taken long distance, via holograms. Though it wasn't unusual, there were many students all across the galaxy who proceeded similarly with their studies, most doctoral students that still attended university studied in person.

"A doctorate!" Siri said, nodding at him with something like approval. It was a bit over blow in its enthusiasm. "You must've been studying hard. Was it difficult, compared to Initiate lessons?"

 "In a way it was, and in a way it wasn't," Obi-Wan mused. "Mostly it's just different. Mind you, I still have to present and defend my thesis, that won't be until a bit later, and even then it's not set in stone that I get my degree, but…"

"I'm sure you will do fine," Siri said encouragingly, patting his shoulder.

Obi-Wan smiled, looking away. How young she was, comforting him for what she considered a consolation prize at best. Whether she was acting on his perceived letdown or what she herself thought it would feel like were she in his position, was hard to say. It was somewhat amusing all the same.

"Listen," Siri said. "I'm waiting for my Master and another Knight, we're going on a joint mission. I don't know if… well. I heard that Qui-Gon Jinn was the last Master to… well."

Obi-Wan arched his eyebrows. "Qui-Gon Jinn?" he asked, curious.

"They'll be here soon – we're taking a taxi to the Senate, after this," Siri said with apologetic smile. "If you… well, if you go now, you might miss him. Why are you here anyway?"

"I've a meeting with a Master here," Obi-Wan shrugged. "And I'm fine where I am, thank you."

"Well if you say so," she said, frowning a little. "For all it's worth, though, I think he made a huge mistake. I saw the records of your fight with Bruck – he should've chosen you as a Padawan. Everyone knows he should've."

"Kind of you to say so," Obi-Wan smiled. "Don't worry about it, though. I'm satisfied with my lot in life," he assured and looked at her. "You look well. How have _you_ been, Siri? How goes your training?"

They talked some more, the topic turning to Siri's time as a Padawan – and for all her awkwardness, she couldn't hide her pleasure either. She was the Padawan of Adi Gallia, a Tholothian Jedi who was known even outside the Jedi Order for her actions during the Stark War. As Siri spoke of her Master and the things she'd learned from her, Obi-Wan thought back to the future that was now his past. Adi Gallia had eventually served as a member of the High Council, she'd been one even when Obi-Wan himself had been a member and Siri…

Well, she'd had an interesting career as a Jedi to say at least.

Their talk and Obi-Wan's reminiscences were eventually interrupted by the arrival of Adi Gallia herself – and in her wake followed Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, who was reading a datapad as he walked. Master Gallia glanced towards them, opening her mouth to call for Siri when she paused, blinking.

"A friend of yours, Siri?" she asked, looking at Obi-Wan strangely.

"Yes, Master. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi – he was an Initiate a year above me," Siri introduced him, making Qui-Gon look up from his reading with a frown. "Obi-Wan, this is my Master, Adi Gallia."

"A pleasure to meet you, Master Gallia," Obi-Wan said, bowing smoothly. "Siri speaks well of you."

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well," Gallia said, bowing her head slightly in return. "I must admit Siri has failed to mention you," she said, casting a glance at Siri who bowed her head slightly in apology. "Who was your Master, Knight Kenobi?"

That made Siri start and Qui-Gon frown. "Kenobi isn't a Jedi, Adi," the tall man said, looking at Obi-Wan with a hint of confusion about his face. "He left the Order five years ago."

"Not a Jedi? But…" Gallia paused, looking at Obi-Wan more closely, taking in his clothing. For his visit to Coruscant, Obi-Wan had left his usual attire behind, and donned a long, dark brown coat instead – familiar enough to his usual cloak to feel comfortable, but not particularly Jedi-like.

"I did," Obi-Wan said and bowed his head. "Apologies if I confused you, Master Gallia."

"What are you doing here, Kenobi?" Qui-Gon asked, hiding the datapad under his cloak and looking at Obi-Wan almost suspiciously.

"I've a meeting," Obi-Wan said calmly. "The attendants know I am here, rest assured. The meeting was scheduled and I called ahead."

"Hmm," Qui-Gon answered, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Adi Gallia looked between them with interest and then looked at her Padawan. "Siri, a word," she said, and the blonde girl nodded, casting a last apologetic look at Obi-Wan before following her Master a little further away. This left Obi-Wan alone with the man who, in another life, had been his Master.

"You look well, Master Jinn," he offered. "I see you have not taken a Padawan."

"I haven't," Qui-Gon agreed, folding his arms. "For a man who left the Order years ago, you still maintain your training, I see. Your presence in the Force is… interesting."

Obi-Wan bowed his head at the off handed compliment. "I try to maintain my abilities," he said. No doubt his Force signature was confusing to the man. For over a decade he'd trained not in suppressing his signature, but camouflaging it. It was, he hoped, only noticeable to those who were actively searching for it.

He could hide it completely, if need be. But here that would raise more questions than he wanted to answer.

"I imagine meditation and shielding isn't all you do," Qui-Gon said, glancing him up and down. "You still exercise your combat abilities as well?"

"Is that a question or an accusation, Master Jedi?" Obi-Wan asked, amused. "I'm not likely to let the valuable abilities I learned here to fall to ruin, not when they can very well save my life out there."

"Leading a dangerous life, are you?" Qui-Gon asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's a dangerous galaxy," Obi-Wan answered, returning the dubious expression. "Especially for a trained Force sensitive – even a semi trained one. Far too many unsightly beings find us to be… valuable."

Qui-Gon frowned at that. "And you've come in contact with these unsightly beings?" he asked. "Where?"

"Where Republic rule doesn't apply, sadly," Obi-Wan answered and shook his head. "Nothing you can do about it, Master Jedi. Nothing I can do about it, but practice my defence and stay on my guard."

"Hmm," Qui-Gon answered, watching him. "Within the Order, even as a part of the Service Corps, you wouldn't need to stay on your guard," he commented, and Obi-Wan said nothing. Qui-Gon frowned and tried again. "Do you regret leaving the Order?"

"No, I don't regret it," Obi-Wan said, though he could hear the wistfulness in his own voice. "Outside I can do and have things I cannot inside, and those things I would not give up now, not for anything." But he was nostalgic for it, homesick in a way that was by now as deeply ingrained in his character as many other habits.

He glanced at Qui-Gon. "Besides, it is not an assured, absolute safety, being part of the Order," he commented. "And to think oneself automatically safe and secure in its shroud is at best foolish and at worst fatal."

That made both of Qui-Gon's eyebrows rise. "A bold accusation, from one so removed from what he criticizes."

"Is it?" Obi-Wan asked. "Sometimes only with distance you can only see the flaws in an object. Or in an organisation."

"Criticizing the Order you are again, Obi-Wan," Yoda's voice interjected before Qui-Gon could answer. "Shaper your tongue gets with each week. Mindful you should be, to who you talk."

"I am _very_ mindful of whom I talk to," Obi-Wan said, turning to the old Grand Master who was just stepping out of the Temple. He bowed his head with a smile. "You look well, Master."

"Hmph," Yoda answered, leaning onto his stick and giving Obi-Wan an unimpressed look. "Cheeky you are, but glad still I am to see you." He turned to Qui-Gon. "A mission you have, Master Jinn."

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon answered, looking with interest between them. "We were just on our way. We only stopped a moment to talk and wait for the air taxi, nothing more."

"If discuss the Order you wish with Obi-Wan, hours you should reserve," Yoda muttered. "Much he has to say on the subject. On your way you should be – the Senator waiting for you will be."

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon said with a smile and bowed. He glanced at Obi-Wan. "And perhaps I will reserve hours, next time. Are you staying in Coruscant, Kenobi?"

"Only for a week or so," Obi-Wan answered, looking at his former Master with interest. "But I will be back in a few months."

"Schedule a meeting between you two later I can," Yoda said, waving his gimer stick warningly at Qui-Gon. "A mission you have and your air taxi arrived has. Go you should, Qui-Gon. Your partners wait you and impatient they look."

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon said with another quick bow to both Yoda and Obi-Wan, before turning to join Adi Gallia and Siri Tachi. Obi-Wan watched him go with a sort of puzzled interest. Qui-Gon had always been a bit of a nonconformist, and he had always been critical of the Order's ways… but Obi-Wan definitely hadn't expected to catch the man's interest by being so openly judgemental.

"That is one very confusing Jedi Master," he commented aloud as the three Jedi filed into the air taxi, and it lifted them up and away.

Yoda tsked. "Speaks so, the pot does," he said and gave a friendly whack on the back of Obi-Wan's shin with his stick. "Come. Food we shall get. And then tell me you will how Anakin does."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, and with a smile followed the Grand Master inside.


	6. Chapter 6

Shmi was almost used to Tatooine now, to their strange little residence at the edge of the Dune Sea where no one ever came. Aside from the occasional Jawas and the few Tusken riders who never came that far, the closest neighbours they had were the moisture farmers a good hundred miles away, and Shmi doubted they even knew they were there. She was almost used to the isolation and the strange freedom that isolation gave them.

It had been well over a year now since Obi-Wan had bought her, freed her, and offered her safety at his side. Sometimes she still woke up in the middle of the night, absolutely certain that it had all been a dream and that she'd find herself sleeping under the table in Se-Lippa's store room. Sometimes she still feared that Obi-Wan had been somehow false after all, and the chip was still there, at her side, ready to blow and kill her should she step out of line.

And yet…

Obi-Wan was gone now – gone to the Inner Core of the Galaxy, to attend to the last important matters concerning his schooling on Coruscant. Like last time he'd gone, the departure had been painful and brief, like tearing off a medpatch, and Anakin, who wailed terribly at it, wasn't the only one who had been left dizzy after it.

Shmi still didn't know how to _be_ alone. How to _be_ free.

"Any time you want, Shmi, anything you want," Obi-Wan said, often and with feeling. "If it's in my power to give you, I will. If you want to leave me and be free somewhere else, then I will give you that too. You're not a slave anymore. You will never be a slave again."

She still didn't know what to do with that. Of course Obi-Wan's promises came with a condition – that condition being Anakin. But then, Anakin was the one condition to everything, wasn't he?

Shmi sighed, and knelt down on the floor. Anakin was lying on his stomach on a soft quilt, looking around with a definite look of disproval on his baby face. Obi-wan had been gone for a week or so now, and Anakin felt his absence keenly – and complained of it often. As Shmi reached for him, trying to distract him with a colourful toy, he made a small sound of distress and reached instead for the place by the window and the mat that lay there, empty. It was where Obi-Wan often sat, meditating.

"I know, I know," Shmi sighed, running a hand over his head and down his back. "Daddy's not here right now. But he will be back, sweet heart. He'll be back soon."

Anakin sighed, a put out sound that never failed to make Obi-Wan snort at him. Shmi smiled at it, at the memory of how often and warmly Obi-Wan smiled, and Anakin allowed himself to be distracted, crawling for the toy and making a little grunt of satisfaction when he managed to grab it from her fingers.

Despite Obi-Wan's assurances and offers, Shmi could never leave him. Not when the man loved her son so much – to the point that he'd risked everything to save him long before he was even born.

"Your father is a very strange man, little one," Shmi commented to Anakin. Long before she'd came to terms with the idea that she'd be a mother, Obi-Wan had already been a father. It was a little intimidating sometimes, but it was also something she'd learned to lean on, something she'd learned to trust. His good will, his loyalty and his absolute devotion to Anakin.

Sometimes, often even, it included her as well, and for all the confusion Obi-Wan caused, it was… reassuring, to be so cared for. It would not erase a life time of misfortune and strife, Shmi knew she'd always carry those long decades of slavery with her, but… When Obi-Wan smiled at her, and promised safety, she could believe him.

Even when he looked like a teenager.

"A very confusing man indeed," Shmi smiled, and then glanced up as the communicator beeped on the table. Running a hand over Anakin's soft, sandy hair, she stood and went to activate it, sitting down on the chair that was the projectors main receptor area.

Obi-Wan's image was projected onto the chair across the table, the projector sitting in between them.

"Hello Shmi," he greeted her.

"Obi-Wan," she answered with a smile. He looked well, and his smile was true and warm. "How did your presentation go?"

"It went well; better than I thought," Obi-Wan said with a small laugh. "Every little thing I said was criticized to the Rishi Maze and back. Though that might be because of how many Jedi showed up – Yoda was there, of course, but he brought a whole entourage with him, the old troll. Padawans for the most part – apparently it was a… learning experience for them."

"But you passed?" Shmi asked.

"I did. I passed the moment the professors approved the thesis, actually. The oral defence is more a formality these days," Obi-Wan said, tucking the lapels of his coat tighter around him and smiling. "A ceremony of fire if you will. The forms are already filed and everything – technically I've been Doctor Kenobi for a few days now."

"Congratulations," Shmi said with a smile. "You've worked hard for this, I know you deserve it. When are you coming home?"

"I'll be leaving in a couple of days, Force permitting," Obi-Wan answered and then hesitated. "You know that now that I have my doctorate… there are things I want to do? Things I need to do?"

"I know," Shmi sighed and leaned back, glancing towards Anakin when the boy made a sound. The boy had crawled over and was now insistently tugging at the hem of her dress, making needy little hmphs at her. With a smile, Shmi bent down to pick him up, nestling him in her lap. Obi-Wan instantly leaned forward, the smile on his face softening.

"He misses you," she said, kissing Anakin's hair gently. "I've lost count of how many times I've found him sitting on your meditation mat. He'd probably sleep on it too, if it wasn't so hard."

"I miss him as well," Obi-Wan said, leaning his elbows on his knees, his eyes on Anakin. "Hello, son. Are you being good for your mother?"

Anakin babbled at him accusingly, pointing his chubby little fingers at him and pouting very pointedly.

Shmi smothered a giggle at him and Obi-Wan chuckled. "He can't feel my Force presence, it must be very confusing for him," he said gently and looked up at Shmi. "I need to move to Coruscant," he said.

Shmi frowned, capturing Anakin's flailing hand and holding it gently in her fingers. "I thought you said that would be dangerous?" she said quietly.

"It will be. But the situation here…" Obi-Wan sighed. "I thought I had more time. But the atmosphere here is already bad – if it's allowed to get worse than this, I might not be able to do anything. I need to start as early as possible."

Shmi frowned at that, looking at Anakin's little hand in hers. She couldn't pretend to understand the concerns that plagued Obi-Wan – the concerns that moved him to hide Shmi and Anakin in the furthest corner of the galaxy. But she understood enough – and she believed far more than she sometimes liked to. And Obi-Wan had proved himself too many times for her to start doubting him now.

He'd predicted so many things. He'd known of her pregnancy long before it had shown, he'd known so much of Anakin. And then, just to prove himself to her, he'd predicted most of the major galactic events from the past year. Jedi powers or not, it was more than anyone could disprove.

And he'd proven himself to her, more than once.

"Will you come to get us, or will we simply join you there?" she asked finally.

"I'll come to get you, of course," Obi-Wan said, his shoulders relaxing. "We… we should wait a few more months, until…" he trailed away and shook his head. "It's something we should discuss in person. There is no immediate hurry, in any case, we can spend some time preparing. I need to figure out how I can hide Anakin's Force presence anyway. I can shield him when we're close but…"

Shmi nodded quietly as he trailed away. "I trust you," she said and looked up and away from Anakin. "But… it will be difficult, won't it?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan sighed, leaning back and tucking his coat tighter around himself again. "On many levels it will be very difficult. I had hoped I had a few years, to grow a little older in body and to establish a reputation outside the capital but… there is no time."

Shmi nodded again, watching his expression. To grow a little older in body, he said. She smiled. "I trust you," she said again. "Whatever it is, you'll overcome it. We will overcome it."

Obi-Wan's expression barely shifted and she hated that it was only a holocommunication between them, and that he wasn't there. It was so hard to see his true feelings without seeing his eyes up close. His face was always so rigorously controlled – always smooth and pleasant, and never revealing anything.

"Shmi…" he said quietly, looking at her. For a moment he looked like he wanted to say or ask something, but instead he shook his head and smiled. "I'll come back as soon as I can. We'll… talk more, when I get home."

"We'll be waiting," she nodded. "Stay safe, Obi-Wan."

"May the Force be with you, Shmi."

Obi-Wan returned nine days later, having once more taken a longer time travelling that was strictly speaking necessary. Shmi knew the moment he stepped on Tatooine soil – Anakin began shrieking with delight the moment it happened, and would not rest still, trying to crawl towards Obi-Wan regardless of the fact that man was hundreds of miles away.

"Well that will make things difficult, on Coruscant," Shmi commented at him, trying to control the boy who probably would've flown to his father, had he had the power. "Anakin, sweet heart, your father will be here soon. He won't come any faster no matter what you do."

When Obi-Wan did come, his speeder's sound roaring over the dunes, Shmi and Anakin met him at the steps of their hut. The moment Obi-Wan had turned the engine off, Shmi deposited their son in his father's arms. Obi-Wan accepted the squirming, squealing burden with a laugh, smothering Anakin's face in kisses while the boy babbled at him excitedly.

"He could feel you all the way from Mos Eisley," Shmi commented.

"I'm not surprised," Obi-Wan answered, cuddling the wiggling boy close as he stepped away from the speeder and closer to her. "He's growing more and more sensitive with each month. Hello Shmi – you look well."

Shmi smiled and embraced him, Anakin happily squished between them. As always, Obi-Wan was a little stiff in her arms, and only hesitantly laid a hand on her back in return, accepting the hug awkwardly. For all the affection and love he could give to Anakin, he was still unadjusted to such things. He never expected it from her.

Which was why she made a point of hugging him whenever he left, and whenever he returned.

"Welcome home," she said, pulling back and looking down at Anakin who was babbling up a happy storm against Obi-Wan's chest.

 "Thank you," Obi-Wan answered, his hand sliding down her back and then to his side, awkward and a little uneasy. "Come, let's get inside," he said, and together they went inside.

With Obi-Wan's arrival some intangible thing that had been missing from the hut returned. Shmi wouldn't have trusted her senses to call it the Force or presence or any other of those near magical things that so affected Obi-Wan and Anakin. But it was something, something very real, and the hut wasn't quite _home_ without it.

Perhaps it was the way Anakin laughed and giggled and just became so much more lively and happy in Obi-Wan's presence. Or perhaps it was that sense of _protection_ that Obi-Wan carried, the confidence and assurance of safety. Whatever it was, Shmi was glad to have it back.

"How have things been here, while I've been away?" Obi-Wan asked, sitting down on his meditation mat with Anakin and nestling the boy comfortably into his lap.

"You know how it is here. Nothing much changes. It's been sunny and quiet for the most part," Shmi answered, taking a seat in a chair instead and watching how her son and his father re-acquainted themselves with each other. Though hesitant otherwise, in Obi-Wan's arms Anakin already dared to try to stand up, taking support from his chest, trusting his arms to catch him.

"No trouble?" Obi-Wan asked, supporting Anakin gently with a hand on his back.

"The vaporator had a bit of a hiccup again," Shmi admitted, "The refrigeration coil stuttered. But it's nothing I couldn't fix."

Obi-Wan nodded and for a moment they stayed quiet, both of them watching how Anakin attempted to climb up his father's chest. When Obi-Wan finally looked up, there was a troubled look on his face.

"You don't want to bring us to Coruscant," Shmi commented quietly.

"I really don't," Obi-Wan agreed with a mirthless laugh. "There's so much darkness in Coruscant. It twists you without you noticing it, it gets inside you and it makes your thoughts murky. I fear…"

He trailed away and Shmi stood up, coming to join him on the floor. Obi-Wan looked up at her and when she shifted closer to him, to sit on the meditation mat beside him, he almost leaned against her.

"Coruscant has so many people, Shmi. Trillions of people. And so many of them are… not so good," Obi-Wan sighed. "It echoes in the Force around the planet, it swirls and pools. Coruscant is like a stagnant pond, growing worse, bit by bit. I don't want to take Anakin here – or you for that matter."

"But that's where you need to be," Shmi commented. "And that's why you need to be there."

Obi-Wan hesitated, and looked down at Anakin. Ever sensitive, the boy had sensed the change in mood and was now frowning at them, his little fingers twisting at Obi-Wan's tunic. "I feel I might be somewhat arrogant," Obi-Wan admitted quietly. "To think that I must, that I need, that it's… a duty, to…" he trailed away and frowned. "My duty is to Anakin. And you."

"And to the galaxy and the well-being of the whole. To the kind and good things that still exist," Shmi said calmly. "You're a Jedi."

Obi-Wan inhaled at that and said nothing.

"I have lived on the Outer Rim for most of my life, so long I don't remember another time," Shmi said thoughtfully, watching him. He looked so young and yet felt so old. Old and tired. "I have seen… so much darkness, Obi-Wan. The darkness you fear – I've seen it. Even lived it. It lives and thrives on the Outer Rim, where the Republic and the good that comes with it doesn't reach."

He said nothing and gently she touched his face, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "Out there – out _here_ what little hope there is rides with the Republic," she said. "For years it was my hope too. That maybe one day my owners would stray into Republic space and… I'd be saved. You can't even imagine how many slaves hold that same hope. Or that one day the Republic will reach to the Outer Rim, and take those lawless territories. That one day…"

She shook her head and released his cheek when he started to look a little too uncomfortable with the touch. "A fools hope, maybe, but still enough to keep so many of us alive, and struggling – to keep us _hoping_ ," she said awkwardly and shook her head. "Should the Republic fall… Well, you know what that comes to, better than I do."

Obi-Wan watched her for a moment and then turned down to Anakin. He still looked troubled.

"Darkness prevails in the inaction of Light," Shmi said quietly, watching him closely.

"Yes. Yes it does," Obi-Wan answered and gently kissed Anakin's forehead. Then he looked at her. "I can't promise to keep you safe. But… will you let me do what I can?"

"I trust you," she said. And she did. Obi-Wan was a good man – a troubled, conflicted and very strange man in so many ways. But at the heart of it, he was a good one.

"I will form a bond with Anakin," Obi-Wan said and smiled down at their son, who was watching them with interest. "I already have one, but if I strengthen it, then I can shield him and his presence in the Force. Until he grows old enough to shield himself, it should be enough to hide him for the most part. And…" he looked up at her thoughtfully. "This, ah… is not precisely an ethical use of the Force, but…"

 Shmi sat still as he touched her, his hands on both sides of her face. While Anakin cooed softly in Obi-Wan's lap, he ran his thumbs gently under Shmi's eyes and then over them when she closed them. She was too stunned by the touch, by its infinite gentleness – by the power it carried – to say anything. It washed over her skin, up her forehead at his finger tips and down her cheeks. He cradled her chin and then ran his fingers over her lips and she quivered.

She could feel the Force in his touch, and it shook her to her core.

Obi-Wan finished, resting his hands around her neck, and with a shuddering inhale she opened her eyes.

"It's only superficial," he said, watching her with a complicated expression as he released her. "But it… will help. I can undo it if you don't wish it."

"What did you do?" she asked.

Obi-Wan stood and with Anakin held gently against his chest, he pulled her up as well. With somewhat shaking knees, she followed him across the room and to the fresher – and there, to the only mirror they had in the hut. He guided her gently around, to look at herself.

She could not speak – she could barely breathe. The change wasn't drastic, he hadn't done much – but at the same time, he had done the impossible. He'd smoothed down the skin under her eyes and eased away the wrinkles between her eyebrows that had for years been permanent. Her skin was even, the hints of old scars gone, the hints of a weary life soothed away. Even her pores looked healthier.

She looked ten years younger.

"Obi-Wan," she breathed, swaying, and he supported her with a hand on her elbow.

"It will prompt less questions," he said awkwardly, rocking Anakin absently as he watched her almost warily - trying to judge her reaction. "I will undo it, if you don't like it."

Shmi shook her head, running her fingers over her face. Her skin even felt younger – it felt soft, almost silky. It felt… renewed. "The Force can do this?"

"It's a form of healing," he admitted. "It's not something the Jedi do, however – it's rather vain, after all, though I do know some who did indulge in its use regardless. I did to myself, in my exile – if in reverse order."

Shmi shook her head again in amazement, turning to face him. "I… suppose it will be less questionable, this way," she murmured. "Anakin and…"

As much as she tried to consider it objectively, though, she felt elated in a way she had thought impossible. She thought herself satisfied with her life, with her looks – especially now, with everything so, so much improved in comparison to how it had been. And yet…

It was vain, yes, and foolish, yes, but… in the mirror there was a much younger woman. A woman not yet worn down by her harsh life – a woman who could be considered, if not beautiful, then at least decent looking. A woman who could yet make something of her life, live it peacefully, happily and with ease.

Obi-Wan watched her closely. "Shmi," he said quietly. "Don't let this deceive you. You _are_ beautiful. You always have been. It has nothing to do with your face or your skin or perceived looks – you have a beautiful soul, a beautiful mind. This neither enhances it, nor changes it. It can never outshine your kindness, your gentleness or your sheer goodness."

Shmi swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment. "W-what was I like, in your future?" she asked, looking at the mirror.

Obi-Wan ran his palm down her arm gently. "I only ever knew you through your son," he admitted. "And later, through the memories of your family. I never met you, but I saw your soul reflected in those who knew you. You were a sort of brightness this galaxy has a great lack of – the sort that reflects and amplifies the good in others."

She took a breath and nodded, turning away from the mirror, and it's alluring, painful, _hopeful_ image. "Obi-Wan," she said, touching his arm, running a hand over Anakin who was silent and attentive between. "Will you marry me? Before we go to Coruscant?"

He inhaled sharply and for a moment, a painful, brief moment, she thought he would pull away. The love between them was only shared through Anakin, she knew that. But Obi-Wan was Anakin's father, always had been, always would be. For that, for this, and for the rest…

"Don't ask me that just because of what I've done for you," he said finally, his hand dropping, not touching her. "Don't ask it out of gratefulness, Shmi."

"I'm asking it for me," she answered, her fingers tightening on the fabric of his sleeve. "And for Anakin. And for you."

He hesitated, still watching her closely. "I… I can't give you the sort of love you deserve," he said warningly. "Even if I've left the Order I'm still… a Jedi. It… it doesn't come easily for me."

"I know," Shmi said and smiled. "I… can't say it comes easily for me either, but…" She took a breath and looked him in the eyes, into the old soul he carried in his young body, the long years of solitude that still shone through. "I'm happy with you, Obi-Wan. And yes, a lot of it has to do with what you've done for me, I won't deny that. But the reason I want this is because of _why_ you did it all."

She touched Anakin's head gently and then stroked her hand past it, to rest on Obi-Wan's tunic covered chest. "You are such a good, kind man, Obi-Wan," she said, smiling. "You are a brightness too."

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly and nodded, awkward and stiff but determined. "If you really want it," he said and smiled wryly. "It would make things easier for us, in the long run," he added and looked down at Anakin, who was cooing softly at them. Shmi looked at their son as well and for a moment they basked in the sudden contentment between them.

"I'm… still a bit young, though," Obi-Wan then said with a wince. "Legally speaking, that is."

Shmi snorted. "You're an old Jawa, is what you are," she said and shook her head. "This is Tatooine. No one will care here, no one will bat their eyes even once at us. Will you marry me, Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

He chuckled. "I do think I will, Shmi Skywalker," he said and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "I'll try to do right by you."

"You will," she assured him. "I know you will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on ages because someone is bound to ask. Shmi Skywalker is (at the time of this chapter) 31. Obi-Wan should be 16 but is 17 because I mucked up the age accidentally. Canonically their age difference is 15 years. Obi-Wan's mental age however is 61 at the time of his chapter (57 when he died plus the years in the past).
> 
> So the age difference is 14 ish on one side, and 30 on the other.


	7. Chapter 7

Qui-Gon sighed as the healer finished looking over his leg. The injury hadn't been _that_ bad, relative to some of the injuries he'd gotten before. But at his age even the best of techniques and buckets of bacta didn't quite mean instant recovery, when a ligament got torn as badly as he'd gotten his. Not to mention about the muscle tears he'd also gotten in the process.

"Brace," the healer said mercilessly, the one thing he'd hoped not to hear. "And at least a week of down time – three would be ideal but I'm not holding any high hopes with you, Master Jinn. No running and no brisk walking – I'd get you a hover chair if I thought you'd actually use it. Just… let your knee rest for a while."

"Yes, Master Healer," Qui-Gon sighed and watched with dismay as the brace was placed on his knee to stop him from bending it in a way that would put strain on the ligament. "Am I given leave to report to the Council now?"

"Report to the Council, you need not," a familiar voice said from the door and Qui-Gon _almost_ groaned at it. "Reviewed we have your ship records and your written report. Know enough we will. The rest you will tell me now."

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon answered, and as the healer demurely dismissed himself, Qui-Gon turned to report his somewhat dismal mission to the Grand Master of the Jedi High Council.

The mission itself had been a success. He'd negotiated the cease fire, even stood in attendance as the political prisoners had been released on both sides – he even witnessed a very grudging, glare filled hand shake between the former opponents, that bespoke of the tense but very real peace that now, Force permitting, existed between them. All in all, his mission had been a triumph.

Then someone had sabotaged his ship and in the middle of hyperspace it had very nearly been destroyed from under him. Qui-Gon had come to Coruscant literally limping and wincing, after four days of no sleep, no rest and very little food.

"I wrenched my knee when the explosive went off," Qui-Gon admitted. "I was standing and was knocked into a table."

"Hmm," Yoda answered, watching him thoughtfully. "Think you this was done by one of the participants of the peace summit?"

"Or by one of the many objectors," Qui-Gon shrugged. "It was inefficiently done in any case – the explosive was in one of the escape pods, on the outside of the ship. At a guess, I'd say the explosive was placed sometime during the summit and expected to blow as I took flight. The shock value of having the ship with a Jedi representative destroyed mid-air in front of everyone would've been great."

"Hmm," Yoda answered, nodding. "Another delegation we will send, to make sure all is well on the planet. Your report I have presented to them, their task it is to make sure the treaty holds. Yours is to recover."

"Yes, Master Yoda," Qui-Gon said and carefully tried to straighten his knee. It didn't hurt as much as it had, those long desperate days in space, but the brace was beyond irritating. He'd gotten used to the pain – the restriction on his movement was irksome. "Are there any tasks in the Temple I can shoulder during my down time?"

"Not with that knee there is. Rest, Qui-Gon. Earned it you have," Yoda said, giving him a humourless look. "A long time it has been since you've been in the Temple."

"It has been some months," Qui-Gon answered and stood up. The knee held. "How are things in the Temple?"

"The same they are, and good that is," Yoda said. "New crèche we have – perhaps lecture them you may."

Qui-Gon considered it. "Maybe," he said somewhat dubiously. Most crèche Masters knew better than to ask him – his notions of Jedi duties were unconventional, and considered entirely unsuitable to be conveyed to such young minds.

Yoda chuckled. "Rest you will," he said almost consolingly and made to take his leave. "See you later, I will, Qui-Gon. Swift recovery I wish you."

"Thank you, Master," Qui-Gon nodded with a bow, very determinedly not thinking about the distance between the healer's wing and his quarters, or whether or not he had anything edible there.

Yoda paused at the door way. "Recall I do that talk with Obi-Wan Kenobi you wished," he then said.

"Obi-Wan – oh, the former Initiate," Qui-Gon said, frowning. Last time he'd been in the Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been meeting with Yoda. He hadn't been to Coruscant since – delegated instead from one mission to another off-world.

"On the planet he is," Yoda said, looking at him. "Moved to Coruscant he did, a couple months back. Now time you have to talk with him, if you wish."

"Hm," Qui-Gon said, recalling somewhat vaguely the reason why he'd wanted to talk with the young man. Obi-Wan Kenobi had presented him with a short, if somewhat cutting critique of seeking safety in the Jedi Order – rejecting it off-hand. "You're still in contact with him, Master Yoda?"

"Play chess we do," Yoda answered with a nod. "And disagree much we do."

"Disagree?" Qui-Gon asked with surprise. "If you disagree then why…?"

The old Grand Master chuckled. "Not many with old Grand Master disagree , these days," he admitted. "Welcome change it is," he added and turned to leave. "Meet tomorrow we do, at the front entrance of the Temple. Come see, you should."

"I might," Qui-Gon said, his interest piqued.

Both Master Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi were already there the next day, when Qui-Gon managed to make his way outside. They were sitting in the shadow of the bronzium statues, Yoda with his feet crossed in his lap, Obi-Wan with one leg bent and another hanging over the edge of the walkway. Between them they had a chess set, the game already in full swing.

Unseen in the shadow of the Temple ziggurat, Qui-Gon watched for a moment. Obi-Wan Kenobi still looked – and felt – as confusing as he had the last time. Dressed now in a long, hooded coat and soft soled boots, he didn't look like a Jedi… but he felt like one. Not like a former Jedi, he didn't even feel like a former Initiate. His force presence was illusive and strange and difficult to discern – but it was very _established_.

It felt mastered.

The last time Qui-Gon had seen the young man, Adi Gallia had mistaken Kenobi for a Jedi Knight. Qui-Gon had discussed it with her later and they hadn't quite managed to find a satisfying explanation for it. The reason for the assumption was simple and troubling – Obi-Wan Kenobi was too young to be confused for a Master. Had he been older, however…

"Interference you speak of again," Yoda was saying. "In the affairs of others you'd intrude, regardless of its welcome or justification."

"There's a difference between non-interference and indifference," Kenobi answered, shaking his head. "Justification these days is more and more the matter of opinion – and more often than not, it's used to excuse inaction rather than the opposite."

"Hmph," Yoda answered. "Consider the Jedi to be indifferent, you do."

"Aren't you?" Kenobi asked with some amusement. "Mind you, I wasn't speaking of the Jedi. But just look at the history of the Jedi Order, its actions to and for the Republic – and not even that these days, but for the _Senate_. You know better than anyone how the mission parameters fall these days – how Jedi interference is, well, justified."

"With times things always change," Yoda answered, stroking his chin as he examined the game board between them. "At peace the Republic is. A blunt force instrument the Jedi has often been, in history and time. It need not be now – a subtler force we now are."

"Subtler," Kenobi repeated. "As things stand now in the Senate, I think there is already enough subtlety about, don't you?"

Yoda snorted. "Straightforwardness a quality of politics is not, Obi-Wan," he said. "Never has candour been the language of legislation. Subtlety begets caution and good caution is, when relations between worlds it concerns."

"True enough," Kenobi answered thoughtfully. "Still…"

"Qui-Gon, your spying cease," Yoda said, waving a hand at him. "Join us you should. Argue with Obi-Wan you should."

"I should, should I?" Qui-Gon asked, but limped closer. Obi-Wan Kenobi looked up and then bowed his head in greeting while Qui-Gon somewhat awkwardly eased him onto the stone, straightening his injured leg with some relief. "Are your discussions always about politics?"

"Sometimes we discuss ethics and philosophy," Kenobi said, with some amusement shining in his eyes. He glanced at Qui-Gon's leg. "Rough mission, Master Jinn?"

"Overbearing healer, more like." Qui-Gon answered, glancing at the game board. Yoda was winning, by the looks of it, but that was hardly surprising. Nine hundred years was a long time to master chess.

"Thinks Jedi indifferent, Obi-Wan does. And misused by the Senate," Yoda said somewhat challengingly, eying the young man across the game board. "Argues that more active role in the galaxy we should take."

Qui-Gon blinked at that, glancing between the Grand Master and Kenobi. "You do, hm?" he asked, curious.

"The Jedi Order is one of the rare regulating forces in the galaxy," Obi-Wan answered. "Not, that is to say, as a police force or a military one, but both as a diplomatic entity and as a protector. A custodian even. Jedi presence is welcome on all the planets of the Republic. And it's a presence that is waning."

"Some would argue that it's only for the best that it is," Qui-Gon said.

"Maybe. But with it wanes many other things. With each new legislation, the Jedi presence out in the galaxy diminishes bit by bit – you concentrate only on those high diplomatic matters presented as problems by the Senate, and in so doing distance yourself from the greater galactic public," Obi-Wan said calmly. "A political non-interference clause was very nearly brought up in the last Senate meeting, promoting that that planets which are under unified rule – such as the Chommell sector for example – should be allowed to mind their own matters without Senate interference in their interplanetary politics."

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow at that. "It was not brought up, however," he said, surprised that someone so young was so informed of what was _not_ presented in the Senate. Just to hear that a young man such as Kenobi knew anything about Senate matters was surprising.

"If it had, then an all-out war could've broken out between Naboo and Chommell Minor, and the Jedi would have been not only unwelcome but forbidden from attending any sort of diplomatic discussions – never mind actual disputes," Kenobi said. "But no, it wasn't brought up, too many sectors have interplanetary conflicts they _want_ Jedi diplomats to attend for something like that to gain traction. But the fact that someone even considered it speaks of the underlying belief."

"Which is?"

"That the Jedi are not needed. Or that they are unhelpful," Kenobi shrugged. "Or simply that they are unwelcome. Take your pick."

"There are always people who prefer not to have anyone, even Jedi, meddling in their local politics," Qui-Gon commented thoughtfully, eying the younger man with increasing interest. "They often feel we undermine their own authority – and not unjustly, in some cases."

Kenobi shook his head, looking somewhat exasperated. "They are part of the Galactic Republic – greater political involvement should be _obvious_ , not something to be questioned."

Yoda snorted. "See you what I deal with?" he asked Qui-Gon.

"I'm starting to," Qui-Gon answered, leaning back a bit and looking at Kenobi, considering him. "You seem to have a keen interest for politics, Kenobi."

"I have a degree in Galactic Politics and Interplanetary Relations," the young man answered. "I'm a junior legislator in the lower offices of the Senate. It's rather given."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows lifted. "Indeed? From a Jedi Initiate to a politician. Interesting career choice."

"We all serve the Force in our own ways," Kenobi answered, shaking his head. "This felt right for me."

"Opinionated he is," Yoda said. "And outspoken. In the Senate he fits right in. Your turn it is, Obi-Wan."

"So it is," Kenobi answered, and reached forward to make his move on the game board

"So if you had your say, you'd involve the Jedi more in matters of the Republic?" Qui-Gon asked curiously, watching as the game continued.

Kenobi considered it for a moment. "Yes. More than that, though, I think the Jedi should travel more even outside actual missions. I think they should make their presence more known in the greater galactic society," he said. "They have a good influence on people and populations and there are hundreds of worlds that have not felt that influence in decades, in some cases centuries."

"Limited the Jedi numbers are," Yoda commented calmly.

"And I wonder why that is," Kenobi muttered under his breath and glanced up. Qui-Gon and Yoda did the same – both of them feeling the oncoming urgency and pain long before the ship actually became visible through the thin cloud coverage. Even at a distance it was obvious where it was heading – the Temple.

"It's the _Silhouette_ ," Qui-Gon said, peering at the ship.

"Waiting for it, we have been," Yoda said and stood up. He cast a glance at Kenobi. "A Jedi presence in a troubled world, Knight Eyan and her Padawan have been. Injured they were for it."

Kenobi bowed his head, accepting the rebuke, and with a harrumph Yoda turned to leave, to attend to the matter of the injured Knight and her Padawan. Kenobi looked after him with a frown. "I never said it was easy. Nothing ever is," he said and glanced at Qui-Gon. "Would you care for a game, Master Jinn?"

"If you play the Grand Master as often as it seems, I might not prove a worthy opponent," Qui-Gon said, but shifted to sit across from Kenobi instead.

"I don't know. It would do my broken spirit good to once in a while meet with an equal, rather than such a terribly superior opponent," Kenobi said, clearing the board. "But if you wish, I'm happy to let you play white."

"I think I shall take that offer," Qui-Gon answered, and they exchanged pieces. The game opened relatively easily, and as they played the opening moves Qui-Gon considered his opponent. Obi-Wan Kenobi could not yet be eighteen, and yet it really did feel like he was facing an equal, and not a man over thirty years his junior.

"Your political interest run largely with Jedi's involvement in the galactic scene, don't they?" he asked curiously. "Thanks to your Initiate training, I suppose."

"I suppose," Kenobi echoed and offered a smile. "It's something I can hardly avoid. My Initiate records are part of my public resume and tend to come up at every turn."

Qui-Gon nodded thoughtfully at that. "It is a unique situation. I don't suppose there are many former Jedi Initiates working where you are now."

"None," Kenobi answered and leaned back. "The structure of the Jedi Order is largely to thank for that – when an Initiate does not gain a Master, they are sent to the Service Corps or they become attendants at the Temple. Those who don't stay in the Corps either return to their home planets or they find… different employment. Somehow, political service doesn't seem to come up much."

"Is that a critique?" Qui-Gon asked with some amusement.

"An observation," Kenobi shook his head. "Apologies – it's something I've considered often and at length, for obvious reasons."

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. "Is it a benefit or a detriment, in your current line of work?"

"My history in the Jedi Order?" Kenobi asked and snorted mirthlessly. "It's a definite benefit. It opens doors for me that should by all rights stay shut. I have very little experience to show and I am young besides. At most I should be allowed perhaps an intern position in some lower branch of the lower offices. Instead, I am already employed full time."

"You have a degree, though," the Jedi Master commented.

"A degree is not enough on Coruscant," Kenobi snorted. "Everyone here has degrees on top of degrees. That is only the very beginning of a career. You need experience, you need proof of that experience and you need connections. Though I suppose, it is my connections that aid me there – my connections, such as they are, to the Jedi Order. They make me a very attractive employee indeed."

Qui-Gon nodded thoughtfully. Rare were the Jedi who left, rarer were those who made something out of themselves, but yes, he knew well enough how Jedi training could benefit a man. Just the reputation of ever having gained any sort of training from the Jedi could be a huge benefit, in many fields. The fact that politics was one of them did not surprise him – Jedi were, after all, a largely diplomatic force in the galaxy.

"Is it just that benefit you gain from your history that makes you so vocal about Jedi involvement – or lack there off?" He asked thoughtfully. "You seem to have very strong opinions about it."

"I can't deny its influence," Kenobi said calmly. "But that is not all of it," he added and glanced away, towards the political centre of the planet – towards the rise of skyscrapers with the Senate building at the heart of it. "There is something rather off with the galactic government as it is now, don't you think?"

"How do you mean?" Qui-Gon asked noncommittally.

"It's lost its effect," Kenobi said. "It's lost its… intangible touch. Each year it matters less and less. Each year it affects the galaxy as a whole less and less. Like the Jedi's presence, its power is waning."

Qui-Gon eyed the younger man seriously for a moment and then looked towards the Galactic Senate. Yes, he had seen it. On those planets he ventured to, on those missions he was sent on. People cared less about what the Galactic Republic thought of them, or how their own actions would be seen or interpreted. Lots of planets were becoming more and more isolationistic, their trade turning inwards, their economies concentrating onto their own sectors. And sectors themselves were separating more and more from their neighbours, concentrating inwards instead.

He thought of his own Master Count Dooku, the planet of Serenno and its recent, almost threatening isolationist streak. One could almost call it… separatist.

"The Republic does less, so the people care less of what it does and ask for its aid less. And so the Republic does even less," Kenobi said. "And people get used to that – used to that non-interference and their own privacy. So, when the Republic does interfere it's seen as meddling in people's affairs, and it's not approved of. And so, the Republic once more does… less."

"It's not quite so simple, I don't think," Qui-Gon commented quietly. "And like you said – people don't approve of the interference."

Kenobi shook his head. "That rather defeats the whole point and purpose of a Galactic Republic, don't you think?" he asked.

 They sat in quiet for a moment, turning their attention back to the game and playing a handful of moves. Considering the young man's words, Qui-Gon came to a rather dismal conclusion.

The Jedi Order had lost something very promising indeed, when Obi-Wan Kenobi had left the temple. And Qui-Gon had been the very last Master to reject him. Granted, the young man had rejected him first, rejected him before perceived failure even which still irked Qui-Gon somewhat. And yet…

Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed in no way intending to sit back and let whatever promise he showed go to waste. Perhaps the loss of the Order was the gain of the Republic as a whole. As long as politics didn't ruin the young man's spirit, that was. It might have explained Yoda's obvious interest in the young man's progress and how, even after five years, the Grand Master was still keeping very close contact.

There was something very special, very important riding on Kenobi. If Qui-Gon, with his very meagre touch to the Unifying Force, could feel it, then it must seem like a blaring alarm to a Jedi of Yoda's calibre.

Qui-Gon's ruminations were interrupted by a quiet warning beep, and by Kenobi digging out a communicator from his pocket. He sat the flat hologram projector on his palm and activated it, prompting the appearance of a young woman's image on it.

"Obi-Wan," she greeted the former Jedi Initiate. "Is your business going to take much longer? I was thinking on starting dinner. Should I wait?"

Kenobi glanced at Qui-Gon who leaned back, shrugging his shoulders minutely even as he eyed the hologram with interest.

"You don't need to wait on my account. But… I think I'll head back soon. Master Yoda had to attend some business anyway, so my visit has been cut somewhat shorter than usual," Kenobi answered the woman and checked his chrono. "I can be there in half an hour or so."

"You should invite him sometime – I'd love to meet him. As would Anakin, no doubt," the woman said with a slight dip of her head. "We'll be waiting for you. Stay safe, Obi-Wan."

"May the Force be with you, Shmi," Kenobi answered and closed the communication and offered Qui-Gon a smile. "Apologies. Seems we need to finish our game some other time."

"That's fine," Qui-Gon said, swallowing the curiosity that very nearly made him ask and smothering the urge to speculate. "I'm grounded for the next week or so. I would enjoy a rematch, if you have the time."

"Today's my only day off, unfortunately – I'm busy at work for the rest of the week," Kenobi answered, clearing the board and hiding the pieces inside it. "Perhaps some other time," he added, standing up and using the communicator to place a general call for an air taxi.

"I'll look forward to it, then," Qui-Gon said and made to stand up. Kenobi glanced at him and then offered him a hand which Qui-Gon took, levering himself to his good leg.

"Should you be using crutches?" the former Initiate asked with some amusement.

"No," Qui-Gon answered with a harrumph. "But I probably shouldn't be sitting on the floor either. What the healers don't know won't make them nag, however."

"Does that tactic truly work for you?" Kenobi asked, smiling at him.

"Not as often as I'd like," Qui-Gon admitted ruefully.


	8. Chapter 8

Normally when a Jedi left the Order, they tended to cut off all contact. It had its roots in the teachings of the Order itself – in that idea of nonattachment and separation and as well in the bitterness that, Mace assumed, followed such separation. Complete severance of all contact must be easier in the end, than keeping in touch with their past and thus being constantly remained of one's own failures. So, usually the only time they ever heard back from those former followers of the Force was when they truly failed and _fell_.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been an unusual and sometimes disturbing exception to that since the beginning. Part of that could be laid at Grand Master Yoda's feet – the ancient Jedi had outright refused to let Kenobi fade into that same obscurity that most failed Jedi did, and had instead kept in touch with the boy. But the fact that the boy himself had not just answered, but actively sought to keep that contact was surprising – and sometimes worrying.

It was indication of attachment – and not only on Kenobi's part, but also from Yoda's.

Mace was not a fool – he could see the reason as to why one might want to keep in touch with a former Jedi Initiate. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been only a little less than thirteen years old when he had left, and one of their most promising Initiates when it came to lightsaber use – not to mention his obvious strength in the Unifying Force. Had the boy joined the AgriCorps like intended, it wouldn't have been an issue… but he had left the Order instead. The risks that laid there were immense.

So Yoda had sought to keep contact, in order to watch the boy and perhaps even steer him in a right course outside the Temple. To keep him from falling to the Dark Side, or to any other of the dark temptations that the galaxy had to offer.

He had not done it successfully either, if Kenobi's child was any evidence of the path the young man had taken. The child at such young age was one thing, Kenobi's refusal to allow the boy even be tested was another, however. A definite bitterness laid in that choice, a bitterness against the Order no matter how genial the boy's behaviour towards the Order seemed. Refusal to allow the boy to share his own fate, maybe – or just to deny a promising child from the Order. Whichever it was, the choice had its roots in Darkness.

After that, Mace had taken interest in Kenobi – and his perspective on the former Initiate wasn't quite as hopeful or kind as that of the Grand Master. The boy's records spoke for themselves.

At fourteen, after a year of being who knew where doing who knew what, Kenobi had started attending the  e Solo University on Coruscant – and he'd done it long distance, still doing who knew what and where. His interests had since the beginning ran with galactic politics, his majors all concerning interplanetary relations and their intricate ways. Even his electives – of which he'd picked many – were somehow concerned with galactic politics. Galactic Trade, History of Coruscant and the Senate, Interplanetary Conflicts and so on and so on.

His intent to make himself a home in galactic politics was blindingly obvious, and he'd been in a rush to get there. He finished most of his courses at record speed for a Human – a benefit of the long distance learning was that he mostly learned by recorded lessons and lectures, and only interacted real time with his teachers when handing in assignments and completing his tests. Had Kenobi's goals been less lofty, he could've graduated with a degree the very same year he started studying. But a lower degree hadn't been enough and so instead three years late, he graduated with a doctorate in Galactic Politics and Interplanetary Relations.

It was almost a pity, thinking of it now in hindsight. Kenobi obviously had a keen mind and willingness to work hard, to study hard. A doctorate was no small thing, after all. What a Jedi the boy might've made, had things been different. But then, perhaps it would've turned different then – a Jedi Padawan didn't have quite as much time on his hands as a mere civilian did. Kenobi, not restrained by the duties of a working Jedi, had had much more time on his hands than any Padawan did. Kenobi certainly had never shown such aptitude for studying when he'd been an Initiate.

And now Kenobi was making his way through the ladders of politics in the _Senate_.

"Do you worry at all over the boy?" Mace had asked Yoda, when he'd first heard of it. "About his intentions?"

"His intentions clear are – true his conviction is," the Grand Master had answered, giving him a look. "Worry I do not."

But true or not, _what_ his conviction was… that was the problem. Mace could not trust Kenobi – he did not know the boy and even if he had known him, he still couldn't have trusted him. There was an underlying strain of greed in the boy's actions – in his studies, in his possessiveness over a Force sensitive child, and in his career choices. They all spoke of a thirst for power and control. Kenobi was a threat in the making.

A threat that was very clearly well looked on and well liked in the Senate itself. Too well at times. Kenobi even admitted it himself, in Mace's presence – in one of those ridiculous chess games he and Yoda played on the Temple's steps.

"It's all about reputation and connections, in the end," the boy had said. "I seem to have both, and whatever perceived capability I have doesn't hurt. My quality is too high for me to be kept in a low position."

"Your quality," Mace repeated, arching his eyebrows.

"Jedi training, my doctorate, and my work, what I've already done," Kenobi shrugged. "I'm perceived to be better trained and higher skilled than most of my superiors – and if they keep me as an underling, they will seem petty and abusive for it. It seems as if they're holding me back, you see. Most get rid of me as quick as they can because having someone like me working under them lowers their own value."

It was all spoken without a hint of pride. Kenobi never showed pride – at most he was wryly amused about his situation. Yet he did not show much humility either and he never, as far as Mace heard, declined a promotion or denied the obviously undeserved acclaim he was given. He accepted it all with an amenable smile, a bow of his head, and a hint of good humour.

The boy seemed to get promoted at the drop of a hat in the Senate and he was pleased about it. From junior legislator to administrator of his branch to assistant to the record keepers to assistant of a manager to even higher positions. Less than year in a governmental profession, and Kenobi had been promoted no less than eight times. Still far from any sort of true political power, it was still intensely worrisome.

And it showed no sign of stopping.

The Jedi Master kept a keen eye on Kenobi's progress and he'd even pulled some strings to get some insider information from those in the Senate he had good relations with. Kenobi's promise hadn't gone unnoticed and it wouldn't be long before he'd find himself in some committee or, who knew, even on the Senate Floor itself. Even if it was merely as an observer. Very soon – too soon, in Mace's opinion – Kenobi would be promoted to some truly worrying position. A powerful position.

Maybe then the young man's designs would come to light, whatever they were. And yet Mace was far from willing to wait for that – to risk that. A former Initiate, most likely bitter towards the Order, in the Senate? Kenobi was far from reserved where his opinions about the Jedi were concerned – he argued the subject with Yoda and even Qui-Gon Jinn at the slightest provocation. Their debates were so well known in the Jedi Temple that they sometimes even attracted spectators.

Mace had witnessed more than one of those debates himself, and they worried him. He could not figure out the agenda in them. In Kenobi's opinion, there were too few Jedi and they were too rarely seen out there, in the galaxy. What that thought gained for him, Mace didn't know. There was a hint of a promise there, though. The sort of promises politicians made, in order to get elected and approved in their offices. A promise of a higher Jedi presence though… what did that gain for the boy, aside from unreal, high expectations?

The public opinion of the Jedi was far from positive, these days. Kenobi couldn't expect to find much popularity in what was gaining disproval from such a wide audience. So what was his agenda? To gain not the support of the greater Republic – but the support of the Order itself? To use it as his power base and spearhead whatever his goals were with the power of the Jedi Order at his back?

Or was it to destroy what little good faith the Jedi had, regardless of whatever impact that would have on his own political career? Could the boy really go that far with revenge?

Mace turned the problem in his head for a good long while, meditating on it and analysing all the perceived and probable benefits Kenobi would gain from this or that path. It remained unclear and the future remained foggy, as far as Kenobi was concerned. There were no answers to be gained in contemplation.

So, eventually, he decided to go to the source itself.

Kenobi owned an apartment in one of the thousands of skyscrapers in Coruscant. It was by no means a luxurious establishment – one of the hundred level buildings, Kenobi's apartment was a relatively small and modest one near the mid-level of the building. Big for one man, perhaps, but small for a family, with limited space and only two bedrooms.

How the boy had been able to afford it – even small apartments in Coruscant were in no way cheap – Mace didn't know, though it was curious. Kenobi had bought it right away after moving himself and his family to Coruscant – he'd came in with a wealth of funds and no clue as to how he'd gained them.

That was not important, however.

Mace selected his time of visit carefully. Kenobi was well established in his daily routine – he worked standard hours, he took an hour or so to transit back to his home, and he spent rest of the day with his family. Mace chose that transit time as his visitation hour – just early enough so that Kenobi was not yet home, yet not so early as to be suspicious to Kenobi. Easily mistaken for erroneous timing on Mace's part, rather than the calculated choice it was.

When he knocked, he was and wasn't expecting the woman that opened the door. She was young, but older than Kenobi by some years, with long dark hair and eyes that were older than her face.

"Yes?" she said, taking in his cloak and clothing, the lightsaber at his side, and frowning. "You are here to see Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Mrs. Kenobi. My name is Mace Windu – I am from the Jedi Order," Mace answered with a stiff smile. "Is your husband home?"

"No, he isn't, though I expect him to come home soon," the woman said, a wary guardedness about her. "Will you let me see the colour of your lightsaber, please?"

That made Mace pause, if only for a moment. Kenobi had educated his wife in such matters, he mused with suspicious interest even as he unclipped the lightsaber from his belt. Igniting it, he held the blade to his side, as unthreatening a position as he could, watching her expression closely. She took the blade in with slightly thinned lips and then nodded.

"Very well," she said and stepped aside. "My husband should be home soon. Would you like some tea while you wait?"

"That would be kind of you," Mace said and stepped inside.

The Kenobi house was… warmer, than Mace had expected it to be. Not merely for its atmosphere, but its décor – everything had a warm shade to it; even the walls had been painted the colour of sun warmed sand. Yet, it was spartanly decorated, with mostly bare walls and floors, and only a couple of low couches sat with a table and hologram projector in between. There was a balcony in the living room, however – and in front of it was sat two thin mats which, judging by their position and design, were for meditation.

What caught Mace's attention first, however, was a blanket sitting on the floor – a softly cushioned one, with toys scattered all over and around it. There was a toddler sitting on it, chewing on a faintly glowing toy lightsaber, staring up at Mace with wide eyes.

Kenobi's wife scooped the little boy into her arms, and Mace was almost certain she intentionally turned away from him, to hide the boy from his eyes.

"Your son, Mrs. Kenobi?"

"Anakin," she nodded, and without another word walked off and into the kitchen that was separated from the living room by a low counter. "We have a selection of teas – do you have a preference, Master Jedi?" she asked.

"Dark and unflavoured, if you have it," he answered and looked around the living room. He frowned, trying to put a word to the strange atmosphere the room had – the whole _house_ had. It was not quite normal, for a meagre household. As homely as it felt, there was something more to the place.

Or perhaps something _less_.

The woman served him the tea in the living room, setting a tray down one handed on the low table between the only two couches the house had. Mace took a seat with a nod, examining the tray and its contents. Both the tea pot and the cups were simple, undecorated ceramics – serviceable but unbeautiful.

"I suppose you're unemployed, Mrs. Kenobi?" he asked, taking the cup offered to him. It was heavy and fit comfortably in his palm.

"A housewife, you mean?" she asked with some amusement, sitting down across from him with the boy nestled in her lap.

"I mean no offence," Mace said, looking at her.

"And don't cause it either – and no, I am not in employment," the woman answered, taking her own cup and looking down at her son. "I take lessons, however, from home. Once Anakin is old enough, I suppose I will seek out employment of some sort."

"Where are you from, Mrs. Kenobi – if you don't mind me asking?" Mace asked, watching her, trying to place her accent.

She smiled, an expression that hardly reached her eyes. "The Outer Rim," she said.

"Indeed? That's a very long way from Coruscant," Mace said, turning the tea cup in his hand absently. "Moving here must've been difficult."

"Not in the slightest," she answered and set her cup down. "Excuse me. I believe my son is in need of a change."

With that said, she left the room with obviously no intention of returning anytime soon. Mace drank his tea thoughtfully, eying the living room and trying to get a sense of the odd feeling that seemed to permeate the place. Something about the apartment grated at him – something about it felt… invasive. And yet it was not a Dark sensation.

He got less information out of meeting Kenobi's family than he'd hoped. He could not get a sense of the youngling's Force presence thanks to the woman's close proximity to him and something about the apartment fogged his senses further. He didn't even get the woman's full name or anything about her history and as to Kenobi himself…

He didn't get the chance to ask her opinion of him – she did not join him in the living room and in the end, Kenobi himself arrived before he could question her further. The former Initiate's arrival was heralded by the excitable babbling by the youngling, and just as the boy's mother came out of hiding in the other room, the front door opened and Kenobi entered.

Mace watched them greet each other silently from behind his tea cup. Kenobi barely glanced at him, checking in on his wife first, touching her cheek silently and looking at her eyes closely. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him and he nodded at her before collecting their squalling son from her arms. The way he greeted the boy was much more familiar and far less stiff – he hugged the babbling boy close and smacked a noisy kiss on the boy's cheek, making him giggle.

Then, with his strange wife and happily squirming boy in his arms, he finally looked at Mace. Despite obviously not being happy to see him, Kenobi's expression was, as always, amiable. "Master Windu. To what do we owe the honour of a High Council visitor?"

"Call it personal curiosity," Mace answered, setting his tea cup down. "I wanted a private word with you."

"So you invaded my home?" Kenobi asked, smiling, and glanced at his wife. "Do you wish to retire, Shmi?" he asked almost gently.

"No," she answered, touching his elbow and looking at Mace almost severely. "No I don't."

Kenobi nodded agreeably to her, and then turned to approach Mace. As the Jedi Council member watched, the former Initiate took a seat, his son securely held in his arms. "Well then," he said, looking at Mace over the boy's sandy hair. "What can I help you with, Master Jedi?" he asked.

Mace glanced at Kenobi's wife who stood at her husband's side, resting a hand on Kenobi's shoulder. They made a unified front, the Jedi noted, wondering at it – wondering at the feel of them. Kenobi's Force presence was as strange as it usually was, but Shmi Kenobi was now included in it, and the boy Anakin was utterly hidden in it. Kenobi was covering for all three of them.

 "You concern me," Mace finally said, turning his eyes to Kenobi who met the accusation and the look calmly, without a hint of unease. "Your occupation, your goals, your agendas and your abilities concern me. Your close proximity to the Jedi Order and your attachment concern me."

That made Kenobi smile. "I appreciate your straightforwardness," he said.

"Do you?" Mace asked flatly, not liking the smile at all. "Then I'd appreciate some bit of straightforwardness in return, concerning your agenda relating to the Jedi Order and the Senate."

Kenobi didn't answer immediately, looking down at his son instead. Anakin Kenobi was quiet in the man's arms, entirely too watchful for a child so young. Sensitive, Mace suspect, to the atmosphere and reacting to it.

There was no way the boy wasn't Force sensitive. Judging by things, he wasn't exactly weak either.

"I'm sure you would," Kenobi finally said and looked up. "But you would not understand it, not really. You would not believe and what you could not trust in would only breed more suspicion and contempt. Instead, let's consider a matter you do understand."

Mace narrowed his eyes. "Which is?"

"In Coruscant, the Jedi are weaker," Kenobi said calmly. "You know it, don't you? At least you suspect it. There is a shroud over Coruscant that meddles with your senses, that fogs your vision and judgement."

"I know nothing of such shroud," Mace said, frowning.

"Jedi are many things – good liars are not one of those things," Kenobi said with a hint of a smile. "You do feel it, Master Windu, and you worry about it. It's probably that which has sent you here to question my agenda, as you put it. Because you cannot _sense_ it. The Force offers no answers, so you come in person, to see and to hear because those senses you can still trust."

Mace didn't answer at first, watching the younger man. "You're deflecting," he said finally.

"No, I'm explaining," Kenobi answered. "Because that very shroud that clouds your senses _is_ my agenda. I've been aware of it for years. It covers this entire planet, and its heart is the Senate. It is _killing_ the Republic from the inside out. The Jedi Order is not unaffected either, thanks to the Temple and the High Council's location."

The Jedi Master paused at that and leaned forward, looking at Kenobi closely. "To what end?" he asked slowly.

"To what end do my goals go, or to what end does the shroud affect the Jedi?" Kenobi asked and shook his head. "I aim to do what I can to cure the Republic of the Darkness that stains it. I cannot do it from outside, hence the politics. And as to what comes to the Jedi… well. You can find out that very easily yourself. Look into your records. The sheer, raw statistics. Look into the code, and the changes made to it – and why those changes were made, and when."

"How would you know anything about those records?" Mace asked darkly.

Kenobi smiled at that. "I don't need to see them specifically, to see their effect. The Jedi have been diminishing. Even an outsider can see it, if he looks into history."

Mace considered that and then looked away from the resolution in Kenobi's eyes, down to his son instead. Anakin Kenobi was watching him silently, warily. "And yet, knowing that, you refuse training for your son," he commented.

Kenobi laughed at that. "Oh no. I simply refuse to subject him to the _Code_ ," he said with a shake of his head and stood up. "Look into your records, Master Windu. If you can prove my words wrong, then we should have this discussion again. I'll even look forward to it."

"You haven't said what you get out of this, Kenobi," Mace said, but stood up. "And as long as you refuse to answer, I will remain suspicious."

"I get _peace_ out of it," Kenobi answered. "A peaceful future for my son to enjoy. That is _all_ I want from this."

"We'll see," Mace answered and bowed his head to Kenobi and his wife. "It has been… interesting," he said and straightened up. Then, with a last glance around, he had to ask. "What have you done to the atmosphere of this house?" he asked. "I sense…"

"What you sense is love, Master Jedi," Kenobi answered, arching an eyebrow. "And it saddens me deeply that you cannot recognise it."


	9. Chapter 9

Qui-Gon didn't know what was going on and he didn't like it. Of course, he'd made it pointedly certain that the matters of the Jedi Order's High Council weren't something he needed to concern himself with… but for a while now, something had been _going on_. The Council had held more sessions in the last couple of months than they had in the last couple of decades, and the Temple was buzzing with rumours and gossip. The archives, everyone murmured, were being scrutinized, and the Council of First Knowledge was busier than anyone could remember it ever having been.

And no one knew why – just that whatever it was, it had the High Council very serious and very worried – and a worried High Council wasn't something the Order saw often. It was rarely a good thing either.

And now this.

"Friendly invitation, it is," Yoda had told him. "Which is why sending you, we are. A message it sends."

"If you want to convey a friendly invitation, why don't you go?" Qui-Gon had asked.

"Still serious, it is," Yoda said and frowned. "And in Silence, I will remain."

Which was worrying on its own account. To be in Silence during a Council session meant that the Council member was too close to the matter at hand to offer opinion – that he was biased. To think that Yoda was biased was… worrying.

Still, the High Council had ordered him to go, so Qui-Gon went. Went into the hustle and bustle of Coruscant, to _politely_ invite one Obi-Wan Kenobi to attend a meeting of the High Council – to _present_ something to them.

He knew where Obi-Wan Lived – the young man had invited him to visit before, but Qui-Gon's duties rarely gave him the time for such things in Coruscant. He was too in demand on the field and rarely even saw the capital at all, never mind having much down time, and whenever he did have down time it was either because of injury or because he needed to rush to educate himself on this or that matter that would help him with his next mission. Free personal time was a luxury he did not quite know.

Which was how he usually liked it – and in any case, Obi-Wan visited the Temple often to visit the Grand Master, and sometimes they communicated via holograms and that was as close as Qui-Gon's friendships generally got. He was satisfied with that.

And perhaps he had avoided the notion of seeing Obi-Wan Kenobi's home life. He had heard of the young man's wife and son and couldn't deny the confusion about it. Obi-Wan might've left the Order, but he was still, deep inside, very much a Jedi. And yet he'd certainly wasted no time in breaking the Code so severely. If he was truly honest with himself, Qui-Gon could admit he had wanted to avoid the answer to the key question – _why_. Obi-Wan had a dangerous habit of making sense, when he explained his reasons, and Qui-Gon knew his own understanding of the Code was already very unconventional. Add into it Obi-Wan's reasoning and he'd be standing on a shaky moral ground indeed.

Still, there was curiosity, which was why he didn't argue as much or try to pry into the matter of why the young man was invited. Instead he went out, sought out the building where he knew Obi-Wan lived, wondering about it. The invitation was friendly and yet it wasn't – because he was certain the Council had not called ahead, not given Obi-Wan any warning. Sending a Jedi to appear on his doorsteps wasn't friendly – it was sudden and unexpected never mind who that particular Jedi was.

Whatever the Council wanted of Obi-Wan Kenobi, they did not want to give him the time to prepare.

The building where Obi-Wan Kenobi and his family lived was much like all the other thousands and thousands of apartment complexes on Coruscant, standing in a district absolutely full of them. The only thing that made it in any way special was the aura which Qui-Gon could feel even at a distance. Like the Jedi Temple, there was a presence about the place, a certain feel.

Here lived a skilled Force sensitive, it said, one in control of his surroundings.

The closer Qui-Gon got, however, the more pointed the difference between the building and the Temple was. Temple was a place of serenity and calm, of quiet and contemplation. Standing outside the Kenobi house's door, Qui-Gon did not feel the calm of contemplation, however.

He felt the intense, blanketing presence of affection. It was leaking out of the apartment and into the rest of the building and it felt heavy and comforting and very strange. A field of Force absolutely _mired_ with love. He'd never felt such a thing.

He knocked, and the door was opened by the very man he'd come seeking. Obi-Wan, if he was surprised to see him, did not show it. He simply smiled, and held the door open for him – unquestionable welcome into the heart of very nearly oppressive fondness that so infused the atmosphere.

Qui-Gon stepped in, and Obi-Wan closed the door after him. "So, the Council's come to their conclusion?" he asked, motioning the Jedi to step in further.

"You know what's been bothering them?" Qui-Gon asked, not sure whether he was surprised or not.

"I have a suspicion," the younger man answered with a smile. "I gave Master Windu something to think about, the last I saw him. Which was some months ago, actually. Has he gone through the records then?"

Qui-Gon frowned at that, looking at him suspiciously. "What did you do?" he asked. "The Council's been doing little else than going through the archives these past few months. They're like a bug nest that's been riled up. They've sent me to invite – and escort – you to the Temple, to present… something to them. I've never heard of them doing something like that before."

"Did they? Good, that's good," Obi-Wan answered and stepped past him. Confused, Qui-Gon followed – and then paused at the threshold of a living room, staring.

There was a woman sitting on the floor, comfortably cross-legged on a stiff looking mat. Her face was calm, her eyes shut – she was deep in meditation. In her lap sat a boy perhaps a little over a year old, with sandy blonde hair – his eyes were shut as well, and had he not been so young, Qui-Gon could've sworn he too was in meditation.

Obi-Wan knelt in front of the woman, running gentle fingers over his son's short hair. The woman smiled but did not come out of her meditation. The boy roused, however, opening his eyes and silently reaching his hands up to Obi-Wan who gently picked the boy up from the woman's lap, leaving her in the peace of her meditation.

"Qui-Gon Jinn, allow me to introduce you to Shmi Kenobi Skywalker, my wife… and Anakin," Obi-Wan said quietly, stepping towards Qui-Gon. The smile on his face was fond and proud. "My son."

Qui-Gon stared at the boy, not _exactly_ surprised, but somehow thrown. The boy stared back and then suddenly jerked with surprise, eyes widening with excitement. "Ohh!" the boy said, pointing at Qui-Gon in delighted alarm. "Ohh!"

Obi-Wan smiled at Qui-Gon's surprise and then, to make things worse, held the boy out to him. Not sure what else to do, Qui-Gon accepted the excitedly wiggling boy, hurriedly holding his arms around the boy so that Anakin wouldn't squirm right out of his hold. The boy patted his chest excitedly, staring up at him and making excited noises.

"He's Force sensitive," Qui-Gon said, staring.

"He's _very_ Force sensitive," Obi-Wan agreed. "You're only the second Jedi he's ever seen. And Master Windu controls his presence very tightly."

Qui-Gon blinked, looking up from the wiggling boy to his father. He knew better than to ask about Anakin's training – Obi-Wan's opinions about it were very clear. He very nearly did ask whether Obi-Wan thought he was really doing the right thing for the boy – but no, that wasn't necessary either, was it?

Not with the house feeling so very loved. It was a love that, Qui-Gon knew, largely originated from Obi-Wan himself – and it was probably very intentional. Obi-Wan had created a safe atmosphere for the boy to exist and thrive in, sheltering him and his budding senses from the world outside. Whether it really was good for the boy, however…

It was strange – in some part Qui-Gon even thought it was unnatural. A force sensitive, growing in such an _emotion_ heavy atmosphere. And yet there was also calm here – there was peace. It lived in Obi-Wan, it radiated in the boy – it was even present in Obi-Wan's wife, whose presence was in no way lesser in the love and protection of the house.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. He needed to meditate on this – on all of this – but now wasn't the time. "The High Council is expecting you," he said.

Obi-Wan nodded, and took his son back, setting little Anakin back in his mother's lap. The boy pouted at it and made some needy motions towards Qui-Gon, obviously not satisfied with what sense he'd gotten. Obi-Wan soothed him with a gentle touch and begrudgingly, the boy settled.

"How long will you be gone?" Obi-Wan's wife asked, opening her eyes and enclosing her hands gently over Anakin's stomach, keeping the boy from crawling away.

"Some hours I suspect," Obi-Wan answered, resting a hand momentarily on her shoulder. "Don't wait on me."

"I _will_ wait on you," she answered and closed her eyes, returning to her meditation.

The journey back to the Temple helped Qui-Gon regain some of his mental equilibrium. He wasn't sure why the Kenobi house had so thrown him off his balance – except he did know. As a Jedi he was not used to such emotional use of the Force, the way Obi-Wan had infused his home with his emotions was… almost abhorrent to a Jedi.

He himself could be – and often was – considered an overly emotional and overly passionate Jedi. He was in touch with his feelings in a way most Jedi weren't – he listened to them and accepted them and though he did control them as well he rarely if ever sought to suppress them. He felt that only through understanding and acceptance could he find his own mental equilibrium, and he did.

But he still did not embrace emotion, not like Obi-Wan had embraced his own love for his family.

"You know, you feel like a Jedi to me. A skilled one – if I didn't know you, I'd mistake you for a Master," Qui-Gon commented. "But you really aren't a Jedi, are you?"

Obi-Wan didn't answer, just looked away.

"Don't you find it…" Qui-Gon paused, trying to find the word for it. "…risky, to let your emotions run free like that?"

"Run free?" Obi-Wan asked, still not looking at him. The younger man sounded tired, though. "I don't let them run free. I _cultivate_ them. What you felt there was many years' worth of careful training and practice. It is different from the way of the Jedi, perhaps. But it is not done without control."

Qui-Gon glanced at him. "Only the Dark Side uses emotions like that."

Obi-Wan merely shook his head at that.

They were quiet the rest of the way, and quiet throughout the slow walk into the Temple, and up to the southwest tower, where the High Council met. Obi-Wan showed no sign of reluctance or worry as they approached the chambers of the High Council, and he did not so much as pause when they entered. Qui-Gon did – he always did. The view from the Council chambers was spectacular.

Then he saw the Council – a full High Council, every member in attendance, and all of them looking at Obi-Wan seriously.

"Thank you, Qui-Gon," Mace Windu said. "You may go now."

Qui-Gon frowned, but bowed his head. The dismissal was unusually short, even for Windu, but it had been given. So, with a final glance at Obi-Wan who stood at the centre of the Council chamber like he belonged there, he backed away. The curiosity and interest was very alive inside him, however. As far as he knew, the High Council had _never_ met an outsider, not even a former member of the Order, in the actual Council chambers.

Obi-Wan's meeting with the Council lasted for hours. While Qui-Gon didn't precisely sit outside the Council chambers for the entirety of it, he did keep an eye on it – on the attendants, who with some exasperation confirmed, over and over, that yes, the Council was indeed still in session and unavailable at this time. In the end it was nearly five hours later when the session ended – and as it did, an odd, troubled atmosphere fell over the Temple.

By the time Qui-Gon reached them, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda were already outside the ziggurat, sitting on the stone steps. They were silent and troubled, just watching Coruscant.

"Is it permitted to enquire what the Council session was about?" Qui-Gon asked, approaching them.

Yoda glanced at him and patted the steps beside him, indicating Qui-Gon to sit down and join them. "The Code discussed was. Some tenets of it in question are."

That brought Qui-Gon to a complete stall.

"Among other things," Obi-Wan agreed quietly. "Master Windu did his research. And then some."

"Ran rampant through the Archives, he has. Have we all," Yoda agreed with a sigh. "Nine hundred years and more a Jedi I have been. And yet I too did not see."

"See what?" Qui-Gon asked.

"That year by year, less Jedi there are," Yoda said, shaking his head. "And high the percentage of the cut is. Too high we now see it is."

"But…" Qui-Gon frowned. "I don't understand. How?"

"One student per Master," Obi-Wan said quietly. "Age limit on student acceptance – on both ends. How young the student is when they're taken into training, and how old an Initiate is, when he's considered _too old_ to train as a Knight. The fact that only Jedi Knights can ever become Masters and that only those former Knight Masters can train future Knights. General disapproval of wide range team work. A certain _lone wolf_ mentality. High mortality rate on those lone Jedi, on increasingly dangerous solo missions."

"Diminish we do," Yoda said quietly, and with a dark sort of finality.

Qui-Gon very nearly cited the old beliefs – the long standing beliefs – that had seemingly controlled his entire career. That there were as many Jedi as were needed. That the Galaxy was at peace. That more Jedi could be taken as a negative sign by the greater Republic, that they should not grow too strong – or too arrogant. There was an odd, knee jerk reaction to justify the things as they were. To defend the status quo.

Obi-Wan was looking at him with a morose sort of amusement. "And I didn't even mention the prohibition on romantic relationships, marriage, and children," he said, shaking his head. "With certain race-specific exceptions, Jedi are expected to live in celibacy. I wonder what effect that has on Jedi numbers."

"But that is –" Qui-Gon started, and then stopped.

"It is," Yoda agreed to the unspoken argument. "And long we have thought it so. A danger there is, we think, in a _bloodline_ of Jedi. Dynasties strong in Force, so are born. Prevent such things we must. So we think. So the Code itself, says."

"Yes. What a horrible thing that would be, a Jedi strong in the Force," Obi-Wan Kenobi said dryly, casting a glance at Yoda –undoubtedly the strongest Jedi known. "And what a terribly unnatural thing, a family is."

Yoda harrumphed, not answering.

"The Council couldn't have actually believed all this," Qui-Gon said. "The Code is… absolute."

"Only the Sith deal in absolutes," Obi-Wan snorted. "But no, of course they didn't. Hours of arguing, and I suspect I'll be arguing this for years to come. But everything can be rationally explained – from both sides. Master Yoda, if you would?"

Yoda cleared his throat. "One student and one Master, so it has been," he said, obviously quoting. "To prevent any feelings of jealousy between two students vying for one Master's attention."

"And instead, it breeds pride and a feeling of _speciality_ in the student," Obi-Wan answered. "And prevents the students from learning how to share, or work together."

"A Master should not be forced to share his attention – difficult enough to rear one Padawan in the way of the Force," Yoda argued.

"And yet they can complete difficult missions while doing so," Obi-Wan answered. "And the crèche Masters certainly have no such difficulty in sharing their awareness between multiple students.

Yoda harrumphed again. "So easy it is not. Yet, food for thought it is," he said and stood up. "Long will the Council consider this. Long will we think on it. But changes… I see ahead."

"Are we really changing the Code?" Qui-Gon asked with disbelief.

"Changed it has been before, change it always does. Forgotten we have the lessons of history," Yoda said. "Develop and grow things always do. The same nothing ever remains."

Qui-Gon watched after him as Yoda slowly returned back inside, leaving him alone with Obi-Wan who was looking towards the Senate building. "The Code can't be wrong," he murmured, more confused than apprehensive.

"It's not wrong," Obi-Wan answered with a shake of his head. "There's a lot of it that's pretty much spot on, a lot of it that should never be changed. But there are aspects of it that are more harmful than they are beneficial. The restrictions it places on the Jedi have been necessary – in some cases they still are. But at the same time, they are strangling the Order."

"So it must be changed?" Qui-Gon asked, shaking his head. "I can't believe this."

"The Order must find a Balance, I suppose," Obi-Wan shrugged and stood up. He looked down at Qui-Gon and smiled. "I've done what I can, I've presented my thoughts and findings – the rest is up to you."

Qui-Gon swallowed, nodding – still deeply troubled. Everything about this was troubling. "You who left the Order," he murmured.

"I, who left the Order," Obi-Wan agreed. "Like I said, some things are only visible with distance. I wish you luck, Qui-Gon, I really do. You and the Order. The very future depends on what sort of solution you find – whether the Order will stand or… fall."

Qui-Gon stood up as well, turning to look at the Temple. "What do you get out of this, Obi-Wan?" he asked then. "Why do this?"

The young man shrugged. "I love the Order," he said. "And I fear for it. And I think… the Order needed someone who was able to say it. So I became that person. Whatever the Order does now, though, that's no longer my problem," he added, and looked at the Senate. "I have other things to concern myself with now."

Except of course it was his problem. The Order made it his problem.

Less than half a year after Obi-Wan's presentation and the start of the Code Reclamation, he was invited to attend another session by the Jedi High Council. It was another long winded, argument filled session and this time Qui-Gon wasn't on the planet to witness any of it in person. But he heard about it later. They all did.

In it, eighteen year old Obi-Wan Kenobi was named the Consultant of the Jedi Order. Though it took years before the position grew as powerful as it eventually became, it was the beginning of the Reformation of the Jedi Order. It was also the beginning of the true career of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

For some, it was the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. I know it's a bit abrupt and people were expecting more... stuff to happen. But I never really had a long winded epic fic in mind. I just wanted to experiment with a fandom that was new for me and with the idea that Obi-Wan went back in time and became a politician to fight the Dark in it's home field, as it was. Also I wanted to have an older Obi-Wan actually stay old, still an old man despite the younger body. Dunno if I achieved that, but I had fun experimenting.
> 
> Anyway, I got what I wanted out of this fic, and I'm satisfied with the result and now I'm gonna do other stuff. Pls don't tell me to continue - I won't.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
